


Discovering Why

by ShadowsofGray



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Romance, Tension, Triggers, quinntana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsofGray/pseuds/ShadowsofGray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn is sick and tired of Santana's attitude, all she wants is for them to be like they were before, so after drawing Santana's name for a Glee assignment, Quinn finally has the opportunity to change things, but Santana doesn't want anything to do with her, leaving Quinn to go home broken hearted and pissed off. Little does she know that her evening, her life, is only going to take a darker turn concerning Santana Lopez.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :) Here is another of my stories I am going to be editing and transfering here. This is set after Blame It on the Alcohol, but before Sexy. Everything that has happened up to BIOTA has occured here as well, though after that it's definitely going AU.
> 
> Pairing: Eventual Quinn/Santana
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own glee.

I walk into the choir room for glee, fifteen minutes late and with a scowl etched on my face. Karofsky had decided it was a good idea to slushy Rachel on the way here, and for whatever reason, the midget dared to walk close enough to where the slushy splashed both of us. Needless to say, I was pissed. I, of course told Karofsky where he could shove the next slushy he even thought of grabbing and bringing near me, then I blamed Berry for the thing hitting me in the first place. She ran off to the bathroom like I had kicked her puppy, or like I had kicked _her_. Speaking of Rachel, she storms past me, shoulder knocking into me in her haste to get to a seat. Her body freezes for a split second after realizing what just occurred, but she doesn't turn around or try to apologize, just carries on to her chair like nothing happened.

I glare at her, then go sit down in the vacant seat next to Mercedes, who is quiet and looking pretty sad. She misses Kurt, we all do. He was just as important in this group as anyone and it isn't right that he isn’t in Glee with us anymore. At least we still get to see him, no way is Mercedes ever letting go of the tight friendship they have. Mr. Schuester is late as always, no surprise there. Bored, I glance around at everyone else; most of them are in some type of conversation. The quietest one in here, other than me, is the loudest of us all; man-hands Berry is sulking in her chair, arms crossed and eyes faced at the doorway. I seriously wonder what goes on in that head of hers; she probably thinks the same as she talks, loud, long and annoyingly.

My eyes fall on Santana next; she is sitting on Sam's lap, ruffling his hair, and looking at me with a smirk. She's doing it on purpose, being all over him like he is God's gift to women, she's such a bitch. Ok, I know this, but still, it hurts that she is a bitch to me when not too long ago, we were best friends. Now we are mere frienemies, at best. It doesn't even hurt as much as you think it would, that she took him right from under me as soon as she got the chance. No, it has nothing to do with Sam and everything to do with _her_.

I look over to the door when hurried footsteps approach, Mr. Schue is walking in, hat in hand. He stops in front of us and looks at the group apologetically, "Sorry I'm late guys, Sue locked me in the teachers' lounge. Luckily Coach Beiste was close by and came to my rescue. Now, before you go home I have a new assignment for all of you to do over the weekend. Something that I came up with in hopes to bring at least some of you closer, there is still too much tension among you, and I know that has to do with the social latter and your varying personality differences. What I want for you to do, is draw a name out of the hat, and whoever you get, sing a song to them on how you feel about that particular person." Silence, dead silence, engulfs the room after he is done speaking.

_He has to be kidding, right? He wants us to sing about our feelings?_

That might seem like a good idea in theory, and certain people won't have a problem expressing themselves, namely Berry, but the rest of us? He better be prepared for this, because there is no telling what this assignment will produce.

"Oh, Quinnie.."

I snap my eyes over to Santana and sneer at the use of that horrible nickname. "Don't call me that."

Her smirk widens, she knows how to rial me up and relishes in it, "You're up to draw, tubbers."

God, does she have to call me that? She makes me feel fat.

I glare at her as I get up, and then go over to the hat, drawing a name with trepidation. 

"Santana" Her name leaves my mouth in a whisper.

I want to take it back and lie, say it's someone else, someone who doesn't hate me and want to ruin my life. God, apparently, is still punishing me. I gaze at her, to see her reaction, and I'm not surprised when she stares back at me with a cold glare, but it makes my equally cold heart drop all the same. I wrap a chain and lock around the beating organ, to keep it safe from anyone even attempting to get to it. My former friend is actually hurting me and I can't have that, she is making me weak with feelings and I know from experience, feelings get you nowhere but hurt and alone. All I wanted was my best friend back, but with the way things are, I can’t see that happening, so I'll keep my heart under lock and key until I leave this crap town. Maybe then I will meet someone worthy of gaining the privilege of unlocking it.

Sitting back down, I watch as one by one five of the others draw names. Rachel calls out Brittany's name with a bright smile, who smiles back just as big. Lauren draws Finn with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. Puck winks at Tina as he unfolds his paper, causing Mike to wrap a protective arm around her. Artie says Mercedes' name softly and with a kind, happy smile. Then Sam of course ends up with Mike. Everyone except Santana seems content with their partners; she is glaring at Rachel as she talks animatedly to Brittany. Santana's eyes turn toward me, as if she knows I am staring, her glare turning icy, and I'm sure if it were possible, my face would be melted by now. I don't bother to recuperate; I just roll my eyes and look away.

Mr. Schuester claps to get our attention; we all stop what we are doing and focus on him, "Great! One more thing before you leave, I want you to spend the weekend with the person you drew, before you choose the song. That way, you can get to know each other better and make a more accurate song choice."

His voice comes out excited, happy for us to spend time with each other and apparently giddy at his own idea. He isn't the only one, short stack over there is alight with excitement. Santana on the other hand is the polar opposite; she is practically murdering Rachel with her eyes. Oh, and now she is trying to murder me, too. My heart drops more, she really does hate me, she can't even stand the thought of spending time with me. How am I supposed to get through this weekend when my childhood friend doesn't want anything to do with me? Something tells me that this will not end well for me; I'm scared of being alone with this girl that I don't know anymore, afraid of what will happen to shatter my heart further.

I miss my best friend.

Everyone gets up after that, chattering away again as they gather their things to head home. I wait until all of them have left before standing and grabbing my own belongings, then walk out and down the now empty hallways. Santana doesn't care about this week's assignment, about me, or she wouldn't have gotten out that room like a bat out of hell. We're supposed to be getting together this weekend, she should have waited for me so we could talk it over, but no, she ran away instead. I pull out my cell phone to call her, but stop in my tracks when I see her leaning against my car.

"Hey, you want to spend the weekend at yours or mine? Or we could-"

She holds a hand up, cutting me off with a bored and annoyed roll of her eyes, "Sorry, Q, but I have better things to do than spend all my weekend with you, bonding or whatever. I'm sure you can choose a song without having to ruin my free time, Sam is taking me to get my breadsticks on later."

I can't let her see that what she just said hurt, so I place my hands on my hips and stare her down, "Since when have you done a glee assignment half assed? What do you suddenly have against me, that you can't even spend a couple of days with me at one of our houses? You know what, I should be the one refusing this. _You_ took my boyfriend!"

"Yeah well, you fucked up when you cheated on him with Finnocence. Was it even worth it Q? Let's just not and say we did, and call it a day. You don't want to hang with me anymore than I want to with you, so I'm leaving, do what you want, I don't care." She sighs loudly and pushes off my car, unaffected by my anger, which makes me angrier and want to scream in frustration. I know she is right, about Finn, he wasn't worth it. I lied when I said I saw fireworks, I just wanted to feel something, but didn't, then lied so I could make myself feel better about what I did. And to hurt Rachel of course, come to find out, though, it wasn't worth that, either. Finn isn't worth either of us; I know the munchkin can do better than him. Though I don't know where that better person is, because she will have to find someone who can put up with her type of craziness.

I go to look at Santana, but I'm met with her retreating back walking away from me, and to her own car. I clench my hands into fists, pissed that she took my zoned out state as cue to walk away. But right now, I don't have the patience to deal with her, and if I'm honest, I'm a bit frightened I will end up showing my vulnerability. I don't need for her to have anymore ammo on me to use at any given time, so I get in my car and with a last look in her direction, drive home.

"Hey, Quinnie, you have a good day at school?" Mom greets me as soon as I walk through the door, and I wince at the nickname for a second time today. Though I should be used to it by now, I hate hearing that stupid name; it reminds me of bad times, like when mom was still with my father.

I walk into the living room with a smile and set my things down. "It was fine; I'm going to go start on my homework so it'll be done for the weekend."

She smiles and nods before I lean down and kiss her on the cheek. "Okay, honey, dinner will be done in an hour." Great, I'm starved.

I smile again, and then exit the room with my things in tow. Life with mom since her separation with dad has been pretty good, tense at first, but I can tell she is changing and is a better person without my father influencing her life, our life. She was there for me on the most terrifying day of my life, the day I needed her most, when I gave birth to my baby. Her showing up meant the world to me and the fact she left father made it even better. I was of untrusting at first, she had went along with dad ninety nine percent of the time and did nothing to stop him from kicking me out. But she is my mother and I couldn't toss her away like they did me, not without giving her a chance.

Around half an hour into my boring, pointless homework, my mind drifts back to the former second in command cheerio, the one who never leaves my head for more than a couple of hours, at most. I keep thinking about her bond with Brittany, that it doesn't seem the same either, not since after she got together with Artie. Santana hasn't been the same; she is more bitchy than usual and takes most of her anger and frustration out on Rachel, and now me. The three of us have known each other since we were ten, we grew up together and all became the best friends, but then when we hit thirteen, Santana and Brittany started to become more.

They had the strangest relationship, open, yet when it came down to it, they always gravitated back to each other. But now Brittany has Artie and Santana clearly detests it; she destroys everyone in her way at school, anyone who crosses her path or even looks at her, she blows up.

Sam isn't important to her, he is just a pawn and it's just a matter of time before she throws him aside for someone else to become her play toy. I had thought many of times that her and Brittany were meant to be, and maybe they are, but right now, B is happy and there is no way she would hurt Artie. I wish Santana would move on instead of going down this path of self destruction and hatred towards everyone. It won't be long before she loses what she does have with Brittany, before she loses me for good. I can't take this, not from her. This school has done nothing but make us into the bitches we now are. We weren't always this bad, high school has changed us, turned us into power hungry girls that care about nothing but image and putting fear into those we deem below us.

Look what I have done to myself, all because of high school, peer pressure, and stupid boys. I am a mother without her baby, a cheater, a bully. I thought to myself before that I don't know Santana anymore, but I don't even know myself. How do I fix it? How do I turn back into what I was, before the drama that is high school life, started? I don't know how.

"Quinnie! Dinner is ready, darling!" Mom calls me down, making me sigh out and shut my notebook. I get up from my spot on the bed and trudge down stairs, tired and ready to just fall asleep and shut out the rest of the world.

Before I can make it to the kitchen, however, I am stopped by the loud ring of the doorbell. "I'll get it, Mom!" I yell out to her, striding across the short distance of the hardwood floor of the foyer and to the door, opening it curiously.

My eyebrow raises when I'm met with the girl who I've been thinking of, and then my eyes are going wide as I spot blood pooling on her white shirt, in between her shoulder and chest "Santana!"

"Q" Is all she rasps out before her glossy eyes roll back and she collapses; I gasp and throw my arms out, catching her without hesitation.

"Mom!" I scream as I gently lay Santana down on the floor, fingers pressing down on her neck, to see if she is still...alive. I let out breath of relief, but instantly start tearing at her shirt so I can get to where she is bleeding.

Mom's running footsteps echo and I hear her ground to a halt, "Honey, what in the world are you scream- Oh my God, What happened?!" She quickly kneels down in panic, helping me remove Santana's shirt. We both gasp in horror as a hole resembling a bullet wound gushes continuously with bright red blood. My heart stops.

Barely holding back the urge to vomit, I waste no time in putting pressure on it.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride to the hospital is tense and silent, unbearable. We had tied off her wound with a cloth from the kitchen to stop the bleeding, and now I'm in the backseat of my mother's car, holding a still passed out Santana in my arms as Mom breaks a number of traffic laws. Tears have started to run down my cheeks in fear and worry; what the hell happened to her? She was supposed to go out to eat with Sam tonight, oh God, Sam! Where is he? Was he with her when she got shot? I startle as the back door opens without warning, and the next thing I know some guy is trying to take Santana from me, but I tightened my hold on her, afraid to let go.

"Miss, I am a doctor here at the hospital, I need to take her in so we can help her, ok?" Right, doctor, she needs help. I slacken my hold on her, letting him grab and pick her up; he cradles her dead weight body against his chest, and I scramble out the back seat, watching on as he sets her on a gurney and rushes into the hospital.

"Quinnie, go inside, I'm going to go park the car." I nod numbly and without reply, run inside after my former best friend.

“Whoa, hey, you can’t go back there.” Hands latch onto my shoulders, stopping me from busting into the emergency room doors.

Jerking away from her, I clench my jaw and ball my hands into tight fists; fingernails digging sharply into my palms.

She looks unfazed, though, and even gives me a soft smile."Sweetie, you can't go back there, you have to let the doctors do their job. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know, she just, she came to my house. I answered the door and there she was, _bloody_ , and her eyes, God, they were so glossed over and then they rolled back and she fainted. I caught her before she could hit the floor, laid her down, and ripped her shirt open so I could see what was going on. Somebody shot her, they _shot_ her! Oh my God, I don't, I can't-"

"All right, easy, maybe you should sit down." She cuts me off as she pulls me into a side hug, comforting me as my mind reels and spin out of control.

Another set of arms go around me and I am pulled flush against my mother, I let out a loud sob and cling to her.

"I know baby, it’s okay, everything will be okay." She whispers in my ear and rubs my back soothingly, but I shake my head no. How can it be okay? My friend could _die_ tonight, someone tried to kill her, and they may have succeeded.

The doctor kindly leads us to a seat, and my mom sits down after I reluctantly let her go, but immediately, I sit in her lap and curl into her as much as I can. She wraps her arm around me and continues to rub a comforting hand up and down my back.

"I am assuming you know the young lady you brought in?" The woman asks, sitting in the empty chair beside us.

I nod into my mother’s shoulder, who replies with a yes at the same time.

"Okay, my name is Dr. Aubrey Tanner. I am going to go see how our patient is doing, but unfortunately, all I will be able to tell you, is if she is still with us or not; I can only divulge more details to her next of kin. The police have been called in, as standard for this type of injury; I will have an officer come talk to you both, since you know the girl." My heart freezes inside my chest after the words 'if she is still with us or not' leave her mouth.

I become stuck on them and they painfully race through my head over and over, repeating until the thought of her lying on the table, pale, cold, and _dead_ , is all I can hear.

This isn't right, no matter how badly Santana treats me; I would _never_ wish this torment on her. We both have said and done things I regret and wish I could take back, but I may never get the chance now and that is killing me inside. The thought of losing her is heart wrenching, sickening, _agonizing_ , and it has another sob wrenching from my mouth. Mom squeezes me and whispers reassurances in my hair. I've never needed God more than in this moment, silent prayers replace the previous words that were on repeat, and I close my eyes while mom holds me close.

"Quinn, I need you to wake up, honey. The officer is here to speak with us." I blink awake at Mom's voice, a yawn passing my lips, and rub the sleep from my eyes. Memories invade my head as I remember where I am, and my feet become planted on the hospital floor in panic, but I am blocked from taking any further steps by a guy in a uniform.

As my eyes focus more, I'm met with a tall, burly man standing in a stiff, professional stance staring at me with well trained hawk eyes. "I am Officer Jay Hanz; I was informed to talk to you two regarding a patient by the name of Santana Lopez. She was shot right below the shoulder by unknown means, is that correct?"

"Yes, she came to our house right after it happened, but passed out before we could ask any questions." Mom answers for us as she stands up.

 The officer looks wary of us, as if we had something to do with Santana getting shot.

"And you go to school with her?" He asks, looking at me, and then at my nod, speaks again. "I need for you to give me detailed information on today's events, starting when the first time you saw her, and leading up to her at your doorstep."

I take a deep breath as my mind takes me back, then piece by piece, reveal everything I can think of that happened today, ending again, at her passing out and then me catching her. He scribbles in his little note pad after listening intently with tuned ears, then closes it and looks at me. "This Sam fellow, is he her boyfriend or just a friend? Has he ever given any notion to a violent tendency?"

I shake my head no, almost wanting to laugh, but refrain, "Boyfriend. And no, never. He is one of the sweetest guys I've ever met, he has never said anything mean or cruel, and has never tried to raise a hand to anyone. I am hundred percent sure he has nothing to do with this, but I'm really worried since they were supposed to have dinner tonight. What if he is lying in some ditch somewhere, bleeding to death, or, or dead?"

Tears again have sprung to my eyes; they drop down the paths of my already dried tear tracks. Officer Hanz finally looks at us with a touch of sympathy and slight worry. He, too, must be concerned over what I just said. "I'll need Mr. Evans number to contact him. If he is all right and in good health, I am going to have him drive up here to answer some questions. Thank you for your cooperation, ladies, I will come back later and check on you."

He walks away after that, and mom and I sit back down, me with elbows on my knees and hands covering my face as I cry into them. "Quinn, I have known Santana for a long time, and even though as you two grew up, your father denying her and Brittany to come over any more, I know her. I know that girl is strong, and brave, and very hard headed. She will not let this overcome her. You just pray, baby, and God will see her through this."

Mom tries quelling my fears, and runs her fingers through my hair. I feel her lean over and place a kiss on my head. Things like this make me wish she would have gotten rid of dad a long time ago, but I am thankful for her now, very. I straighten up and put my head on her shoulder, and then slide my hand in hers. "Will you pray?"

She says yes, and with a squeeze to my hand, starts a prayer off. My eyes reclose, but this time I can't fall asleep, not when Santana is lying on a table fighting for her life. At least, she better be fighting, or I will hesitate to bring her back to life just so I can kick her ass for letting go so easily. For leaving Brittany without her best friend, for leaving _me._

By the time mom stops praying, another presence makes themselves known. I open my eyes back up and lift my head, it's Doctor Tanner.

"Hi, I wanted to let you know that your friend is alive, she made it through surgery. Her parents were called and informed of her situation, it took a few tries to get in touch with them, they are both on vacation, but will be taking the next flight home. Until then, her mother gave permission for both of you to stay updated. As of right now, Ms. Lopez is being put into ICU for a couple of hours. She lost quite a bit of blood and had to have a transfusion, but the surgeon got everything under control and she is stable. The bullet went straight through and thankfully didn't hit anything vital." I am so relieved that I honestly feel like laying a big kiss on the woman in front of me.

Santana is alive, she made it. She fought through and _lived._

"Thank you, God. When will be able to see her?" Mom, also relieved, lets out a breath and squeezes the hand still in her own.

Doctor Tanner gives us a small smile, "As soon as she is out of ICU and in to a room, I will let you both in. Why don't you go grab some coffee and a bite to eat?"

An hour later, after finally giving in to my mother's will and eating a small snack with two cups of coffee, for us both, we make it back to the waiting room. I am exhausted and want nothing more than to fall into my bed and for this to all be some twisted nightmare.

I spot Sam across the room at the same time he see's me, another form of relief fills my body and I meet him half way for a bone crushing hug. "I'm so glad you are okay, what happened?"

"I don't know. We didn't even go out tonight like we were supposed to. She texted me saying that she didn't feel well and was just going home, I never saw her." Sam pulls back, looking at me as he answers softly. His eyes are filled with unshed tears.

"What the hell, I don't understand! Her car wasn't even parked in our driveway, how, how did something like this happen?" I cry out in sheer frustration, and in anger. My ex boyfriend wraps his arms around me and holds me as I break down again. I'm glad no one else is here to witness Quinn Fabray crying like a baby. Then again, I wouldn’t give a rat's ass; all I care about is Santana and her continuing to make it through this.

Another hour passes by, and during that time, Sam has spoken with the officer, relaying what he told me. I tell him what I remembered about Santana's car not being there, and that she lives in the last house on my road. Officer Hanz then left again with the intention to call a team down to Santana’s house to investigate. I'm worried about what they will find. If she was going home, then something must have happened there. But what?

The doctor enters the room again, walking towards us. "We have her moved to a room, she isn't awake yet, but two of you may go in there for now."

I stand up without hesitation, needing to see her, and needing it _now_. Mom gives Sam the okay to see her, too, so we both follow Doctor Tanner out and in to a hallway. She leads us to room number 203 and opens the door. Sam walks in, but I pause and take a deep breath to gather strength from the heavens above for what I am about to see in that hospital bed. I then let the breath out, and enter her room. Sam is already at the bed, holding on to one of Santana's limp hands. My face crumbles at the sight of her. She is so, so still, paler than she should be, and clammy looking. She is hooked to multiple machines; one an IV that I hope is pumping her with pain medication.

My fingers comb through her hair and another round of fresh tears build up. "What happened, S? Who did this to you? Tell me so I can go kill the son of a bitch."

My words fall on deaf ears; she makes no movement, no indication that she heard me. The only reason I know she is alive, is from the slow rise and fall of her chest and the heart monitor. I don't know how to read the thing, but from what I see, it seems to be beating right. That is my hope anyway. "You look like shit, San, how about you wake up and bitch me out? No? Okay then, I'll do the talking. Maybe hearing my voice will annoy you enough to wake up. I bet whoever did this to you looks worse, am I right, or am I right?"

Still, nothing. Not even a twitch. I bet Brittany could get her to wake, Santana does anything for her. But she isn't here and I don't know if we should get the others involved just yet. Probably not, she needs a stress free environment, not the dramatics our glee club will no doubt bring about. I just wish she would respond to me, I would give anything just to hear her voice again, to see those eyes open up.

Sam takes a turn trying to rouse her, talking and making dumb, silly jokes. I grab a chair and pull it to where I was standing, and then sit down and listen to Sam while my fingers graze through her hair again. No, the Santana Lopez I know wouldn't want any of them to see her weak and vulnerable in a hospital bed.

"If you don't open your eyes, I am calling Rachel to come up here just so she can torture you until you have no choice but to wake up. You know her, she wouldn't stop talking and or singing until you gave signs of life." Sam attempts another tactic, threats. I have to laugh at that, though, because he is right, that is something Berry would do and I can picture Santana caving in and finally opening her eyes just to shut the diva up. She would probably let out a growl, threaten her into silence, and then fall back asleep. I sigh, and lay my head down on the bed; I am really exhausted and could use a nap. My eyes close in agreement. I'll just rest for a minute; Santana will be here when I wake up.

"NO!" I jerk, startled awake when someone screams out. I blink away the fog and confusion floating around in my head, and then lift it up from its resting spot on the bed. My eyes fall on Santana, who is sat up, and staring off into the now darkened room.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Santana's breathing is hard and fast, chest rising and falling rapidly as her hands fist into the bed cover and strain her knuckles white. The heart monitor starts to beep loudly as her heart picks up speed, and I fight the instant urge to jump up from my chair and onto her bed, to hug, and kiss all over her still pale face. To let her know how much she scared the hell out of me. I stand up slowly with my own heart racing and push the nurse call button.

"Santana?" My voice is a mere whisper, afraid that if I talk to loud I will frighten her.

"No, don't!" She gasps out and quickly backs up as far as she can go, hooked arms covering her face.

My eyes widen at her reaction, I was not expecting her to be afraid of me. What if she doesn't know it _is_ me? Maybe I should try again." Santana, you’re okay. It’s me, Quinn; I'm not going to-"

"No, get off! Don't touch me!" My hand reels back from her arm as she yells at me, and then said arm strikes out in my direction in attempt to hit me.  _What is wrong with her? What did they do to her! And where is her doctor, damn it? Mom, Sam?_

I push the call button, again, becoming a little more than irritated, and scared for my ex best friend’s mental health. "S, please, I won't hurt you. It's Quinn, please; you are going to hurt yourself worse. Can you understand me?"

The door to her room swings open and Doctor Tanner, along with Santana's other doctor, jogs in, swarming her bedside in seconds. "It's about time! What if she was dying in here?!" I scream, taking my fear and frustration out on them.

Doctor Tanner moves to stand beside me, giving me calm eyes, and then peers at Santana, where the doctor is trying to talk to her down. "Ms. Lopez, I am Doctor Cain, you are at the hospital with a severe wound, and I need you to lie down before you hurt yourself further. Can you do that for me?"

Face crumpled and stomach turning, my eyes stayed glued to Santana as she shakes her head almost violently. "No. No, no!"

"Ms. Lope-"

"Her name is Santana!" I bark out suddenly, making all of them flinch. Santana curls in on herself more. "Oh, San, no, I'm sorry, I just-I don't know what to do. Please, it's okay, please be okay."

"Quinnie, you need to calm down, honey. Yelling is just going to scare her more." Mom’s arm wrap around me from behind, I didn't even hear her come in.

Both doctors nod their head in agreement. "Your mother is right, but anything we do is going to spook her right now. She is not in the right state of mind just yet, so much so that it doesn't seem like she is feeling any pain. Dr. Tanner lets get the girl a mild sedative so she will lie down, we need to check her stitches."

Minutes later, we watch him try to administer a shot of Ativan, I think he said it was, in her IV. She struggles, though, making Dr. Tanner have to hold her down. I look away from the heart breaking sight; this is too much for me to handle.

Things weren't supposed to go this way. Santana, B, and I grew up without a hitch in our friendship, and we stormed through high school that first day _together_. Nothing was ever supposed to come between us. But things went down hill the second year of cheerios; I saw the signs freshman year, when Santana would start giving me the evil eye. She wanted to be captain, and she was envious of me, yet she never once said anything until the next school year. That is when things got way out of hand. We both are to blame, I know I have done some shitty things to her, and vice versa, but I hate it. She has gotten ruthless and I _hate_ it. And now, some very dead son of a bitch tried to kill her. She is alive,  mentally not there, maybe, but alive and awake. God gave her a second chance; I just hope we can work through our problems before she self destructs.

* * *

Saturday morning, Santana

A loud noise has me gasping awake; I blink and search my bright as hell room for the culprit. My eyes are blurry, though, and all see are faceless figures. "She's waking up. Ms. Lopez, can you hear me?" One of the tall figures, a guy it sounds like, walks closer.

_Why are there people I don't know all up in my room? Am I dreamin’?_

Shaking my head to clear it, I rub at my sleep crusted eyes, but inhale sharply as pain shoots up through my chest and shoulder. Suddenly dizzy, I clap a hand to the area, needing the pain to _stop_ before I hurl. "No, do not touch it that will only make the pain worse. Look at me; can you hear what I'm saying?" The same guy speaks again, taking my arm and pulling it away gently.

I'm in too much shock and confusion to protest.

_What the fuck is going on?_

"Y-yeah, what, what's going on?" My voice comes out hoarse, and choked; my mouth is drier than the damn desert. I look around again, and for the first time, notice that I'm not even in my room. “Where am I?"

"You are in the hospital, I’m afraid. I am Dr. Cain. You were brought here by one of your friends, a Ms. Quinn Fabray, and her mother. I know your head is quite foggy, and you are confused; we had to give you a sedative in the middle of the night to calm you down. Do you remember why you were brought in?" _Hospital? I'm in the hospital and Q brought me here?_

_What the hell? I don't remember shit._

I shake my head again. "No, I don't. Would you like to tell me why the hell I'm here?"

"Santana?" I jerk my head away from the doctor and to the doorway when a soft, angelic voice calls my name. And now that I see who it is, I know why they sound angelic. "Q, what is goin’ on?" I ask her as she all but runs my way.

"You don't remember? S, you, you showed up at my door last night. I had thought you changed your mind about spending the weekend together, but I saw blood and before I could ask questions, you fainted right into my arms." What? No, I didn't go anywhere last night; I went home because I wasn't up to seeing Sam, not after mine and Quinn's encounter in the parking lot.

I wanted to say yes and go home with her, but I couldn't, not with the recent way I've been feeling. Ugh, _feelings._ I was afraid I would do something stupid, like admit them, or just jump her. Yeah, that would have gone well. So, instead, I went home, took a shower, and then threw myself on my bed to sulk for the rest of the night.

I fell asleep, right? Shit, it's blank after that. "I don't remember anything, except for going home and getting in bed. Off, _bitch_." I finally answer, but when Quinn sets a hand on my hand, it tingles oh so good, and I shrug it off and growl at her.

I had to; she can’t know how good it feels when she touches me. The hurt in her eyes makes me want to vomit. I hate this shit, how I'm treating her. But what can a bitch do? She's as straight as an arrow, and straight laced Christian; no way would Quinn want anything to do with me. Okay, well, maybe straight laced is too strong, she did have sex before marriage and got herself preggers, but getting down and dirty with a hot Latina such as myself is in a whole other league.

"Ms. Lopez, I am Officer Jay Hanz. I have been assigned to your case, do you mind if I ask you some questions? It may refresh your memory so we can find out what happened exactly." The other figure I had seen walks into my eyesight, replacing Q's spot. I resist the urge to growl at him, too, just so he can move from in front of her.

He's blocking my view.

Guess it's better this way, can't have her catching me staring.

"Yeah, whatever, but I needs somethin’ for pain, my chest and shoulder hurts like hell." I look at him, tiredly giving in.

Maybe I can figure out what's going on, because I am clueless as fuck.

"Of course, I'll go get you something. Just hang in there for a few minutes while I am gone." The doc answers from the other side of the bed, and then is walking out the room, too slowly for my liking.

Grabbing a chair, the officer sets it beside the bed and sits down with a notepad. "When you arrived here, your friend and her mother told us that you showed up on their doorstep. Quinn had opened the door and not long after, you passed out, they then hurried to open your shirt to stop the bleeding, where they found out you had been shot. No one knew what happened. We have been doing a lot of investigating since you've been here in the hospital. Your friend Quinn pointed out that you live in the last house on her street. I sent a team there, and what they found was a crime scene. Can you remember at all what happened in your house last night?"

I've been shot? I was shot. Someone _shot_ me. 

My eyes go wide as my mind backtracks to last night, after I had just fallen asleep,

_I had been woken up by a loud crash from downstairs, it sounded like glass shattering and falling to the floor. I got up in a daze, heart pounding. What if someone just broke in? My parents weren't home, how was I going to protect myself from an intruder? Then I thought, I am Santana Lopez, I can kick anyone’s ass. I grabbed the first weapon like object I found, which happened to be a baseball bat that my little brother left in my room. Footsteps sounded up the stairs, and I wasted no time in hiding beside my closed bedroom door so that I could coldclock the fucker if he came in. I held my breath as the doorknob turned, and when it opened, I swung out, hitting something solid. A yelp came out of a man’s mouth, but before I could attack again, he snatched the bat from my grasp and forced his way in, shoving me back toward my bed._

_I tripped and fell, and I remember the way it knocked the breath out of me._

_I tried to get up, but he was faster. He curled his fists around the front of my shirt, yanking me to my feet. His breath was foul and teeth a nasty yellow. It made me gag._

_"I knew my time would come, and what better luck than to find Juan's precious daughter all alone without her daddy or mommy to protect her? Your father is going to pay for what he’s put me through." The man spat at me, and then threw me across the room like I weighed nothing; my back hit the edge of the bed and I bounced off to the floor._

_He didn't give me time to get up. I was grabbed again and tossed to my bed; he followed after and straddled me. His smirk was pure evil as he leered inches from my face, his eyes holding nothing but hate and vengeance. For what I didn't know, but I wasn't going out without a fight. I regretted not thinking clearly enough when I first heard the glass breaking. I lost my chance to call 911. I struggled underneath him, lashing out as much as I could, his cruel, heartless laughter spiking chills down my spine. He was bigger than me by almost a foot, and had at least hundred pounds over me; he was nothing but hard muscle._

_How was I supposed to compete with that? He had every advantage over me, all the control, while I had nothing._

_His hands went around my wrists, pinning them tight above my head._

_I had never been so damn terrified in my life; all I could think about was Brittany, my first love, my best friend, who I would never forget, and Quinn, my other best friend. My new obsession. I thought I would never get the chance to gain the courage to tell Quinn how I felt; the demon on top of me was about to take the chance away._

_"The last time I saw you, you were a wee little thing, about six years old. You are so beautiful, Santana, and I hate to take that away from you, but your father has left me with no choice. Do you know why you and your family moved? No? Well, your dear father shot my lady when he and his team raided my home. My wife didn't even make it to the hospital, and then I had to spend the next ten years of my life in prison. He owes me, it’s just too bad it was you home; such a waste."_

_He pulled out a gun after that, and my fear rose to heights unknown. My breathing was out of control as I tried to struggle from his strong grasp. He laughed again, running the gun down my chest, and back up to my face, rubbing it over my lips. Tears were falling freely, but I was not going to beg for my life, not when I knew it wouldn't help. He was the Devil incarnate, and I had no chance in hell of getting out alive. I sent a prayer up, the first one in many years, and then closed my eyes, waiting for him to finish me._

_Santana Lopez doesn't beg, and I wasn't about to start. "Please don't."_ _The words fell from my lips anyway; apparently my brain and heart had other plans._

_Chuckling deeply, he slid the gun slowly back down. "Nothing will help you, daddy’s girl; you are as dammed as my wife. Any last words?"_

_I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that my life was completely over in that moment. I was going to die and there was not a damn thing I could do about it._

_"Yeah, two; fuck you."_

_A pillow muffled the shot, but did nothing to cushion the agony as the bullet propelled through my flesh. The last thing I heard was his laughter gaining distance, becoming quieter, fainter, until I heard nothing but my own ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat pumping as my life slipped away._

_I remember using what little strength I had to get up. My knees buckled from under me and I had to crawl toward the stairs; somehow I made it down them and out the house. Quinn was closest, I had to go to her, I knew she would help me. I don’t know how I got there without passing out sooner; probably sheer will._

"Santana? Can you hear me?" I'm knocked out of the horrid memory by a voice and a touch to my hand.

I take a deep breath, as ready as I’ll ever be to relay what happened to me last night.

"I remember." Is all I say before opening up the flood gates and telling them everything, bar the details of how I was feeling; they don't need to know that shit.

When I'm done, the officer stands up, moving the chair back to its spot. He then looks over at me. "Thank you. That definitely pieces together what happened. The CSI team lifted prints from various objects, and took in evidence that will tell us more. As soon as your father gets here, I will be talking with him about the man that did this to you. And hopefully we will be able to catch the bastard. Get some rest, Ms. Lopez. I'll be back in later when your parents arrive, they should be here soon."

He leaves, and the doctor conveniently comes back in, carrying my shot of pain medicine. I hope it's the good shit. All I want to do is escape the reality of what happened; I'm tired of reliving it and just want to get away. He walks up to me, and I recoil when he turns my arm over. "I'm giving you a shot of Demerol; it should knock the pain out, and you. When your parents get here, and when you wake up from your euphoria educed nap, I will explain more about your gunshot wound. Until then, let this work and get some sleep, okay?"

I couldn't agree with him more. All I'm missin’ are my two girls, B isn't here, and though Q is, I doubt she’d join me in bed. Somehow I know if she climbed in the small space beside me, I wouldn’t have to worry about nightmares. As bad as my body irritatingly craves her, though, I sure as hell am not asking the girl to cuddle me. My head swims as the liquid runs through my bloodstream; I can feel a goofy smile taking over my face and can do nothing to stop it from happening. My fuzzy head turns toward Quinn and I'm sure my smile widens; she really does look angelic. 

Too bad she can't be _my_ angel. Damn this shit is good; it's making me all mushy and floaty. Sleepy. I need sleep. I'm afraid to go to sleep, scared of what will await me in my dreams.

"Hey, Santana, before you fall asleep, do you want me to call anyone? Brittany maybe? I’m sure she would be upset if you kept this from her." My, no, not my, the angel speaks to me, and I just smile and nod okay. 

I don't think I could talk right now if I tried.

xXx

I'm trapped. He has me by the throat with his tongue in my mouth, and a gun pressed to my ribs. Hearing the trigger, I tear my mouth away and scream.

"No! Don't!"

"Santi, baby, you’re okay. It was just a dream." I hear a voice that I didn't think I'd ever hear again. My mother is by the bed, hand smoothing down my damp, sweaty hair.

Ugh, how gross.

"Mami?" I call her name in a whisper, my mouth still dry.

I really needs some water.

"Your papi and I are here, baby. You are safe now; that man cannot hurt you anymore." Her words soothe me enough to relax. 

Just knowing they are here helps.

"You have some visitors waiting to see you, but first we need to talk to the officer, well, your father needs to talk to him."

Visitors? Please tell me Q didn't call in the whole damn club?

I'mma cut a bitch if she did. I don't want all of them seeing me this way.

Leaning down and kissing my forehead, Mami whispers I love you. I smile and say it back, closing my eyes to soak in the feeling.

What I could swear is years later, the doc and officer come in, both standing tall in the middle of the room. "All right, now that everyone is here, I need information on the man who did this to you daughter. Dr. Cain already told you what occurred last night, so what I need to know is his name, and why he targeted your family."

Sighing, Papi runs a hand through his short, salt and pepper hair, and then plops heavily into the chair beside the bed. He takes my hand and squeezes it before opening his mouth.

"His name is Xavier Sanchez. We knew each other for four years when we lived in Mexico, but when someone dropped a hint that he started selling drugs, I had to put my duty first and do my job. I ended up in charge of the case. Eventually, my team and I got the warrant to search his house, but things went horribly wrong. His wife had a shotgun pointed at us when we came in. She didn't even give us time to talk her down, she just shot out, hitting one of my men in the neck, and I didn’t hesitate to shoot back. Xavier was furious and attempted to take his wife’s gun, but another of our team shot him in the shoulder. It was a mess, his wife died on the way to the hospital and the guy she shot died at the scene.”

“Xavier got twenty five years without parole. After that, I made the decision to move my family, where my kids could grow up without having to worry about the aftermath of what happened. I had no doubt that someone from Xavier's family would try to exact revenge.”

“And ten years later, the man has somehow gotten out of prison and found you all. We know a lot, and I am hoping it won't take long to find him. When we do catch him, there will be a long road ahead of you, but one with closure. This is a pretty set case, I mean, I'm no lawyer, but the bastard has no chance of getting out of this one. I will keep you updated on the situation on whatever details I am allowed to tell you. I'll see you all tomorrow to check in." Officer Hanz replies as he writes in his note pad, and I can tell he believes his own words. I have to believe, too, that they will catch him and throw his ass in prison to rot.

Once he is gone, the doctor turns to us. "I'm sorry for everything you are going through; I know it is hard, especially to process. I am going to leave you with your family and friends for a while, I'll come back to fill you in on how the surgery went, how to take care of it, and what to expect. Right now, I need you not to move your arm and shoulder. In order for it to heal right, the stitches need to stay in place, and you have already busted a couple of them in the middle of the night. So, be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, gotcha, no moving this side of my body. 10-4" I salute with my other hand. He chuckles, shakes his head in, and then leaves us alone.

I startle when the door reopens. Q walks through, and my lips curve up at the sight, but she stares at me with a frown. _What did I do now? Does it hurt her when I smile?_ My eyes flick to the doorway again as movement invades my peripheral, they then widen when I'm met with the sight of two familiar faces.

One a welcomed one, the other not so much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word of warning for any readers who may be triggered: Santana's nightmares from here on out become worse, there will be eventual scenes of violence, abuse, and rape.

"Santana w-what happened? We passed your house on the way to Brittany's this morning, and there was police tape up. I panicked and almost went in there, though luckily Brittany stopped me so we could call you instead. We couldn't get you on the phone, so we called Quinn since she lives the closest to you, but hers went straight to voice mail. I-I thought something happened, and hoping against hope that you and your family were alive, I drove us here-"

"Berry, for the love of God, shut your mouth. As you can see, I am alive and well." I cut her off with a roll of my eyes, not being able to take anymore of her voice. I already have a headache coming on.  _Whoa, wait, did she say she panicked? And imply that she gives two shits about me? Why would Rach-Berry, care about what happens to me? I would think she would be elated that I'm stuck in a hospital bed; she gets to see one of her tormentors all helpless. What gives?_

"You are not well if you are in the hospital, Santana. But you are obviously not on your death bed, either, seeing as you are still as rude as ever. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. Just because you are forever cruel to me, does not mean I wish you dead. Unlike you, I have a heart." Berry's words sting. Does she really think I have no heart? I guess so if all I've ever done is stomp on hers. Whatever, I am who I am, and if that's a person without a heart, so be it. I'm not gonna make nice just because she chooses to care about me or some shit.

I don't get a chance to respond, she performs one of her Berry-famous diva storm outs. I sigh, and with another roll of my eyes, avert my attention to my best friend, "Hey, B."

"I was scared; we both were scared that something really bad happened to you and your family. You should have seen Rachel; she started to shake and couldn't even hold her phone to call Q." Britt’s voice is quiet, her expression sad and confused. I hate when she is sad, I've never been able to handle it.

My mind wonders again, to Berry, but I don't know what to think of her worrying over me like that, so I shut the thoughts of her out of my head and hold out my hand for B to take

She comes closer, taking my outstretched hand, her larger one soft in mine. I smile a smile reserved only for my closest of friends, in other words, just for her. "A bad man tried to hurt me, but I got away, and Q and her mom drove me to the hospital. I'm okay, though, just a little tired." I explain it to her in the least traumatizing way possible; there is no need for her to get freaked out by knowing all the details.

"Did the Po-Po get the bad man?" She asks me quietly, and sits on the edge of the bed. A light chuckle comes from my mother, and I turn my head and glare at her, which shuts her right up and has her tapping my Papi on the leg. He takes the hint, and then they both get up and leave the room. It was nice of her to give us space. I turn my gaze to Q, the only one left in the room; her mom must have snuck out earlier. But Quinn shakes her head and doesn't make a move to leave. I plead with her with my eyes, needing this time with Brittany before she goes back home with man-hands, if the overly dramatic girl is even still here. She better not have left the damn hospital without Brittany.

"I'm going to go find Rachel and get some coffee, I'll be back shortly." Quinn makes a face, one that tells me she isn’t the least bit happy, but it’s gone in a flash.

Since when does Q call Berry by her first name? _Weird._ I'm just glad our own drama queen hasn't invaded my thoughts like Quinn has, I'd probably wash my brain out with bleach if I started thinking of the brunette as much I think of Q.

Fuck, I don't wanna be thinking at all right now.

I am tired and I hurt and I'm not supposed to move one of my arms.

I am living a real life nightmare, and all I want to do is _wake up._

* * *

 

Present, Quinn

I give Santana and Brittany a longing look, before reluctantly leaving them in peace. I long for it to be me who S is talking to, or at least for me to be in there, too, because as much as I miss Santana and want her friendship back, I still love B and don't hate on her just because she still has that tight friendship. I am just feeling so damn _left out._

Our parents are sitting around the waiting room, talking with Santana's doctor about her arm no doubt.

I give mom a nod, telling her silently that I am going out the room, she nods back then turns her attention back to the conversation they are having.

Once again, I wish my cell phone was with me. Rachel ran, no, stormed off and I have no way of calling her. It's not like her number is one that I would commit to memory, I'm not even the one who put it in my phone. Her name mysteriously appeared in my contacts one cold day at school, and no it wasn't the air that was cold that day, it was the look I gave her and the slushy shower that quickly followed after. I'm not sure why I never erased Berry's name, but it could have come in handy. I check the cafeteria first, looking around for any short brunettes who are dressed by their grandma's.

She cannot be that hard to find, I hope. But no luck here, my next stop is the gift shop, because really, where all could she be in a freakin’ hospital?

When I get there, the only person inside is the clerk. Sighing, I roll my eyes and go in anyway. It won't hurt to buy Santana something; maybe she will even accept it with thanks instead of bitching me out for it. Maybe I could get a hug? Okay, so that’s more than a little wishful thinking. I would have to force myself on her if I want a hug. Even if she wasn't hurt, she wouldn't dare touch me, let alone give me a simple hug. I haven’t had one from her in too damn long. My eyes land on a rack with odd looking stuffed animals on it, and I search over them until I find one suited for Santana's tastes.

It's a lion. I pick it up and read the tag; it is a Ty beanie boo by the name of king. Perfect, they are one of the animals that mean strength and courage. I grab the yellow chick beside it for Britt, her name is Goldie and both of the plushy animals have big beady eyes.

As I head to the counter, I am drawn to the baby section; I scan over the things with sad eyes. A day never goes by without thought of my little girl, I miss her and wish that I could have been everything she ever needed, but motherhood wasn't meant for me yet. One day I will be ready, and I will welcome a second child into this world with the person I love. Baby Beth will never be forgotten and will forever be loved, and maybe when she is old enough, she’ll search for me.

After leaving the shop, I Somehow end up on the birthing center floor of the hospital, and now I am looking through the glass window at all the little bundles of joy. There are three boys, two are sleeping and the other is awake, suckling his own hand with wide eyes. The two girls in there are sleeping soundly. It hurts to look in at them, but I know that what I did was best for Beth. Movement out the corner of my eye has me turning my head; Rachel is standing a few feet away, a gift shop bag in hand. Our eyes meet, but she looks away first, pain evident in her expression.

I'm not dumb; I know why she is here. The last time we were at the hospital, I gave up rights to my baby to Rachel's mother. Berry obviously had similar thoughts to mine when she went to the shop. I am wondering if she saw the baby stuff and came straight here like I did.

Wait a minute, did she buy Santana something? "Berry, did you get a get well present for S?"

She looks at me again, and then down to the bag in my own hand, "Yes, I did. And I see that you did as well."

"Yeah, it seems so." I reply, shrugging, and then turn my eyes away, back to the display of other people’s babies. It goes quiet after that, but after several minutes of uncomfortable silence I speak again. "Do you hate me?"

"No." It's the shortest reply I have ever heard come out of her mouth, but it is music to my ears. I don't want her to hate me after everything I've done, especially giving her mom a new baby when she didn't want Rachel.

Looking at the precious babes have made my walls crumble beneath me, it's a rarity that Rachel should cherish, for tomorrow and the days that follow, I cannot promise to change and treat her differently. "I'm sorry."

She lets out a small surprised gasp and whirls to face me, and I gaze at her with what I hope is honesty shining in my eyes. She searches them for several seconds. Her mouth opens and closes, then reopens. "Thank you, Quinn."

The walk back to Santana's room is spent talking. I tell her what happened to Santana, and what's going on now with the investigation. Her reaction is silence, and a rage sparked that shows on her face. I tell her that the cops will catch him and that there is no way he will get away with what he has done; he will rot in prison for the rest of his life. She says nothing, but the look in her eyes tells me all I need to know. She, too, would murder the son of a bitch if she could. It's surprising coming from her, yet maybe not, because like she said earlier, she has a heart. It shows.

Of course, I didn't like the fact that she implied that Santana doesn't have one, but seeing this reaction from Rachel tells me that she really doesn't believe her own words.

When we enter room 203, Brittany is sitting in my chair beside the bed, holding a now sleeping Santana's hand. She smiles up at us, and her eyes seem to brighten when she sees Rachel. Berry smiles back and walks over to her, I follow while taking out the stuffed animals from my bag. "Hey, B, I got you something."

She takes the yellow duckie with a huge smile, and then hops up from the chair and crushes me in a hug. "Thanks, Q, he’s really cute."

"You're welcome. I got S one, too and Rachel bought something as well." I say and hug back, then pull away.

She lights up more, looking at Berry and her bag excitedly.

The rest of the day passes slowly; Rachel and Brittany had left not long after we came back in the room, something about their parents not knowing where they were. The doctor came in once while Santana was awake and put a sling on her arm, to hold it in place while the wound starts to heal. He explained to her how long she would need to stay, at least until Monday to make sure there are no complications. He then told her she would need to go to Physical therapy for several months to get her muscles working properly. In other words, Santana will not be able to cheerlead for a very very long time, if at all. It’s a good thing we already quit.

I hate with every fiber of my being that she was shot by some maniac, yet I'm thankful that he hit her on the right side. He may have taken cheerleading from her, but she still has the use of her dominant arm. I know that if it were the other way around she would be even more distraught than she already is, not able to use her left hand.

Nurses have come in and out, along with our parents, helping Santana to the restroom a couple times. It was a hard feat for her, but she did it. Afterwards, though, she passed right out. The doctor tried to get me to go home and get some rest, but I refused to leave Santana's side. I talked him into letting me stay the night again, simply because of the assignment Mr. Schuester has us on. He agreed to let me stay and bond with her over the weekend so I can pick out a song to sing for her. He seemed to think having me here and talking to her would help her heal.

Luckily, mom OK'd it, too.

All our parents left to go home and refresh. Mom is letting Santana's parents go to our house so they can shower and change, and maybe take a nap. San is sleeping the whole day away, her facial expressions changing between grimaces, frowns, and semi-peaceful looks when I smooth my fingers over her tormented face. She hasn't woken up since this morning. I know she needs it for healing, but I miss seeing her eyes and hearing her voice.

* * *

 

Saturday night, Santana

_His breath is harsh in my ear, and the foulness of it invades my nose. The gun he has is pressed to my throat, right against my pulse point. I can feel it pounding against the cold metal as he holds the weapon tightly. "You are so hot, mamacita. Too bad I didn't fuck you before putting a bullet inside your chest. I bet you would have liked that, slut. I've been watching you, and you like to fuck don't you? I’ve seen you with that tall, leggy blonde friend of yours, and the dude with the Mohawk. Oh, yes, you like riding him hard. What about the other blonde, you get inside her yet? No, but you want to, you want her bad."_

_I shake my head; it's a jerky, short movement, the gun preventing me from having free mobility. He chuckles in my ear, "I should have had you call her. We would have had some fun, us three."_

_"No, I would never let you taint her." My voice is a cracked whisper, but he hears it._

_He jerks up, and before I can react, slams the butt of the gun into my throat._

I gasp out harshly, bolting up in bed. My hand flies to my throat as I suck in air. "Santana, what is it, what's wrong?" Q's voice makes me look at her, my breath heavy as I set my hand back down.

The tears filling my eyes spill over and rush down my face when I remember what I had just dreamed.

"Santana, no, don't cry. You’re okay, he can't hurt you." She panics, taking my hand in hers, which makes me let out a damn sob. She's being all gentle with me when I've been nothin’ but a bitch to her for the longest time.

"Oh, God, I don't know what to do. I'm not used to this, S, tell me what you need." She sounds desperate, and has tears running down her cheeks. I've made her cry. I am making Quinn Fabray cry, and it's all my fault.

She shouldn't be shedding tears over me.

"Don't cry over me, I'm not worth it, Q. I don't need anything, not from you." My words are harsh, they are meant to push her away. It’s for her own good. She doesn't need to get twisted up in my mess of a life.

She shouldn't have to deal with me breaking down.

I was crazy to consider ever being with her. She can do better than me, I am not good enough.

I lie back down when my chest sends pain signals to my brain, I'm hurting like hell.

"Santana don't say that, you have been my best friend for years. You _are_ worth it. And even if you don't think you need me, you do, so I am not going anywhere. Just let me take care of you, you stubborn bitch." She replies in her well known HBIC tone, apparently not one to give up that easily. 

_Duh, I know this, I know her. She doesn't give up, and unless I really hurt her, she is here to stay. I refuse to push her that much away; after all, I do have feelings for the girl. Stupid feelings that are getting in the way._

_What would she do if she knew?_

_It would probably push her away for good._

The bed dips. I look at her as she climbs on. "What do you think you're doin’?"

"What does it look like? I'm tired, too, so scoot over." She sarcastically replies as she slides in beside me. My heart starts to race from the close proximity; we haven’t been this close in a long time. Hell, we haven't even hugged. The last time that happened was when we won sectionals, and that was too brief of a hug, a half one at best.

"There's not enough room for this shit. Get your own bed." I grumble out, snapping at her in attempt to kick her out my space. Secretly, I love that she is here; I am the one who wanted her in my bed, to keep me safe.

Now that I have it, I don't know what to do.

"I'm not going anywhere. I-we almost lost you, so just let me do this okay?" Her glossy tear filled eyes bore into mine, her fingers brushing my cheek with a tenderness that I'm not used to. It's then that I know that I cannot deny her anything.

I nod; it’s all I can do. Words have left me.

All I can think about is leaning up the short distance to kiss her. My heart monitor is beeping loudly in the silence as my heart races for her. "What's wrong? Your heart monitor is going crazy. Do you feel sick?" She asks me worriedly, glancing at the machine then back at me.

Nothing is wrong, not with her hovering half on top of me, looking at me like that.

It just makes me want to kiss her more.

"I'm fine, Q." I lie, swallowing hard and licking over chapped lips. She narrows her eyes at me, obviously not believing the lie. She thinks something is wrong, but all that is wrong is her lips aren't on mine, when they should be.

"You can't lie to me, not when you are hooked up to that machine. Tell me what's wrong, do I need to get the doctor? I don't want you to have a heart attack or something." She sees past the lie, and I'm sure that if I wasn't even hooked up, she would still see past it.

She just doesn't see deep enough.

I chuckle and turn my head away reluctantly.

It's too soon, if I kiss her now, she will run. "I'm still trying to calm my nerves from the nightmare I had, no biggie. Don't worry about me, Quinn. And if you _insist_ on staying in the bed tonight, go to sleep already. I'm tired, woman."

She sighs, but doesn't try to protest, and then I feel her maneuver down and against my side. "If you need anything wake me up, okay? Our parents will be in here sometime tonight. G’ night, S."

"I don't need anything."  _Except I do, I need 'you.’_

My eyes close when she doesn't reply; she is apparently ignoring me now. Whatever, I should just be thankful her ass is still here. I _am_ thankful, and couldn't be happier. Ha, yeah, okay, I so _could_. I'd be happier if we were somewhere else, like her bed. I don't want to be here, I'm past ready to leave this place. Maybe Q can be my personal nurse; I could be in her bed right now with her takin’ care of me. Not that I need taken care of, nope. 

_Al right, Lopez stop thinking and go to sleep, tomorrow is a new day, one closer to getting out of here._

"Stop thinking so loud, Santana, you need to get some sleep. Tomorrow we will be bonding in between your resting periods so that I can choose a song to sing for you." What? She isn't seriously considering doing the assignment still, is she?

"Q, I can't go to school anytime soon, so forget the damn assignment. You don't have to sing to me." I grumble, rolling my eyes. That was a stupid assignment, about expressing stupid feelings.

Quinn's feelings for me probably consist of loathing and other bad shit.

Why wouldn't she hate me? I do.

"I'm doing the glee assignment. We always finish them, so I am not going to let this bump in the road stop me. Got it?" A lump forms in my throat at her words. So this is all about glee? She isn't doing it for me.

 It's never about me.

I look away as a tear falls down my right cheek. It runs down and lands on my lips. "Got it. Because obviously, glee is more important than me and you just have to complete that stupid ass thing."

Oh, shit, that did not just come out of my mouth. _Fuck._ I feel her turn my face back toward her with cold fingers. She is glaring at me, so I glare back just as hard.

She opens her mouth, and my eyes fixate on her soft looking lips. "Do you think I would be here if you weren't important to me? And that _stupid ass thing_ you called it, has to do with you. You are my assignment, so yes, I will complete it."

Now close your eyes and go to sleep, okay?"

I blink, surprised, and then nod dumbly, because once again I have no words.

Letting go of my face, she pretty much snuggles back against my side, fitting there perfectly. The room goes silent after that; the only sound is the machines and our soft breathing as we finally let sleep claim us.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Hola, puta. Did you miss me? I think you did, because even in your dreams, I'm still in your head. You're a freak, chica, guess I had better make it worth your while then huh?" His dark voice echo's in the empty locker room at school, making me stiffen in sudden fear. He appears behind me, wrapping his massive arms around my naked body and squeezing me harshly. I cringe at the abrupt pain and constricting pressure, struggling to get away from him._

_"Why the rush? I figured we could play a little game, it's called 'Find the ex-head cheerio' don't you want to play?" I instantly stop the fruitless struggling as dread fills my entire being. Kneading rough fingers against my stomach, he hums in my ear._

_"What did you do to her? So help me God, if you hurt even one hair on her head, I. will. End. You." My words are seethed out ruthlessly, no longer am I worried about my own immanent death, the only thing that concerns me is getting to Q and making sure she hasn't been harmed._

_"So, you do want to play? Good. The rules are simple, she is somewhere in this building, find her before 6:30 or she dies. If time runs out, you die with the knowledge of not being able to save her fast enough." He whispers into my ear, and then his arms loosen from around me, but I don't get the chance to try to attack him. I am pushed violently and hit the lockers with a loud clash and a grunt of pain._   _When I manage to turn around, he is gone with no trace of being here. I shake myself out of the shock and hurry to check the time on my cell phone, but I don't have it. I'm left to check the digital clock placed on the inside of the locker door that coach put in all of them. It reads 6:10. My jaw clenches in complete and utter anger, and trepidation._

_"That's only twenty minutes!"_

_"Then you better hurry and save your doncella before it is too late." He chuckles maliciously, and it, too, echo's throughout the room, sending cold chills up my spine. I rush to throw on clothes, only worrying about underwear and a shirt, fuck anything else, Quinn is more important than my modesty. Not that I have any. I tear out the clock to carry it with me. My first search is the rest of the locker room; I zoom through it, but find no one, not even the Diablo responsible for this shit. With my heart racing, I leave the room in a panic and start calling out to her while I look high and low and everywhere in between._

_"Q, where are you damn it!" I'm now on the other side of the school, and only on the first floor. There is no answer, no sign of her or anyone, only deafening silence. I scream out as tears of aggravation and blind panic stream down my face. I want to drop to my knees and scream some more, but I am not giving up on her. Ever. My feet run the opposite way until I'm at the steps leading to the next floor; I storm up them and continue my frantic search._

_"Q, tell me where you are, perra, so I can save your helpless ass!"_

_"Tick tock, caballero, your princesa doesn't have much time." I hear him close by, but when I turn swiftly to look around, he isn't anywhere in sight. I huff angrily and check the clock; it's now...6:20! Oh shit, shit, I have to find her, and fast. This motherfucker is dead for doing this to us, to me, to Quinn, for making me feel helpless and more terrified than I've ever been before. If I go down, he is going with me._

_"Quinn?" I burst into one of the bathrooms and yell out her name, needing her to hear me; I can't risk a missed opportunity to find her just because she didn't know I was here._

_"Santana, help me." Her broken voice whispers from within the room; I gasp in surprise and frantically search the stalls._

_"Q, where the hell are you?" I holler out when every inch of the bathroom is looked over by my wide, teary eyes._

_"Santana, I'm right here!" She calls urgently, and on the verge of desperation. I look around, my head jerking in every direction to see if I missed any spots where she could be, but knowing there aren't any has me collapsing to my knees and crying out. I'm going insane, why would I hear her, when she isn't even really here?_

_"QUINN!"_ I scream as loud and long as I can, and by the time I'm done, my throat feels raw and scratchy, making me cough and suck in air to breath.

"Oh, mija, you're okay. It was a nightmare, baby, it's over. Your mami is right here." My mom's soothing, worried voice penetrates the loud thunderous heartbeat pounding in my ears, and her hands cup my face, wiping at tears I wasn't aware that had fallen.

"W-Where is she?" I ask, panting and close to hyperventilation.

The fear I had felt for Quinn’s life hasn't left me and won't go away unless I know she is safe in the real world.

"Your friend went home with her mother-"

"She left? But, she said she wasn't going anywhere! Why did she leave me?" I cut mami off in a panic, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks and on to her hands.

"Easy, Santi, don't work yourself up or you are going to hyperventilate. Quinn and Mrs. Fabray just went home to freshen up; they will be back anytime now, all right, baby?" Papi speaks up from behind momma, coming to stand close. He lays a hand over hers, the one still on my cheek. My eyes close as I try to calm my hammering heart; she didn't _leave_ , Q is just getting some rest from being here with me the whole time.

I'm surprised she stayed as long as she did, and even more so that she is willingly coming back. I need to see her, though, I have to.

"What time is it? And can you get me some damn water, my mouth feels and tastes like road kill."

"Santana, you know better than that, mija. It is half past ten; here is your water, drink up." I'm scolded by Papi, but right now I'm not so guilty as to care enough that I cussed in front of them. My head is too fucked up to care about anything other than Quinn being here, which better be soon before I have that damn heart attack she has been so worried about me having.

 

* * *

 

 

Present, Quinn

"Mom, hurry up, I need to get back to her!" I whine from my spot at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up them where my mother is taking her sweet ass time doing God knows what, when we should be at the hospital where I belong with Santana.

"Just a minute, sweetie, I'm on the phone." She calls back down, ignoring my pleading tone and continuing the conversation with whomever she is talking to. I sigh out and force myself to go sit in the living room to wait on her, pulling out my own phone and checking all the missed calls and texts I received over the weekend. There aren't many, and the ones I do have are from Rachel, Britt, and one from Sam. I check that one first.

_-Hey Q, I wanted to check on Santana, is she doing okay? I'm headed back up there tonight. ~ Sam_

_-Hey, she is physically the same, but she is having nightmares and is quite possibly mentally unstable. She needs us now more than she has ever needed anyone, Sam. I'll be there when you come by. ~ Q_

After that, knowing how upset Rachel was, I listen to her voice mail next.

" _Q-Quinn, I know you aren't going to answer because it's me, but this is an emergency. I have reason to believe that something has happened to the Lopez family. T-There was, I saw police tape up and Oh, God, Santana, please tell me she is with you? Q, it's me, Brittany. Rach can't stop shaking and handed me the phone. Call us back, please, we need to know S is all right_." By the time the voice mail is over, I have tears pouring out of my eyes. Rachel sounded so scared and distressed, and Britt’s voice was cracked, as if she was on the verge of breaking down like Rachel.

I swallow thickly and wipe my tears away roughly, not wanting to lose it completely, because if I do, there won't be any stopping it. My mind drifts back to Berry, it's just the way she has been reacting to all of this is, well, it’s weird. I don't get why she would be so distraught over something happening to Santana, I mean, okay, she is a caring person, but she bought her a stuffed animal! Who buys their tormentor a stuffed animal?

"Mom, come on! Santana is more important than your phone call." Getting impatient, I storm back into the foyer and yell up at my mother, again.

"Why don't you take this trip without me, I'm talking to an employer about a new job interview!" She hollers back down excitedly, her voice almost a squeal, which is very rare for mom; in fact, I've never heard her like this. This must be the job of her dreams.

"Fine, I have my phone, so call me if you need to." I give in only because the need to be with Santana is way too strong to stay here any longer.

Without waiting on a response, I hurry out and to my car; mom will just have to drive herself later. The drive to the hospital seems to take forever, but I make it and waste no time in going up to her room. I lightly knock on the door, and then peek in, Santana is propped up in bed, and her parents are sitting in the chairs beside her. Mr. Lopez is talking softly, while her mom watches on with worry. Walking in, I reclose the door, and then stand by and wait for one of them to notice me. It doesn't take long; Santana glances my way, her eyes going wide, before she starts to move as if to get up.

"Quinn." She noticeably swallows. "You weren't here when I woke up, and I thought-" She stops herself from saying anymore, face hardening into a scowl, and then she's looking away from me. I frown, worried and curious as to what she was going to say.  _What did she think? Was she scared that I had left her?_  Both of her parents get up, her mom smiling sadly down at Santana as her dad whispers something while patting her hand.

They then gaze at me as they walk out of the room, leaving us alone.

I check over her heart monitor, needing to know if it's still beating right. The numbers seem okay, I think. Her last blood pressure test looks kind of high though, it reads 145 over 90, what the hell happened for it to be that high?

"Santana, did you have another nightmare?"

"I couldn't find you, I looked and _looked_ , but there wasn't enough time-"

"What? You got out of bed and looked for me? You could have hurt yourself Santana! Why did you-"

"He took and hid you somewhere in the school; he said if I didn't find you by 6:30 that you would die. I only had twenty minutes to find you, Quinn, but I couldn't get to you. I tried. You called out to me, but you weren’tthere." She cuts me off in an emotionless, whispered voice that breaks my heart. She had a nightmare about me, and it's obviously tearing her up inside, at least that's what it's doing to me. I've never seen her like _this_.

"San, I'm right here, I'm fine. He hasn't hurt me and he _never_ will. And if I have anything to do with it, he won't ever hurt you again, either. I will _kill_ him before he even thinks of laying a hand on you." I tell her softly, but with conviction, and gently climb back in bed with her, being careful not to jostle her too much. She trembles as I turn her face toward mine, and try as she might; her fight against the tears proves pointless. They come streaming out and her face slackens with defeat,

"It hurts, so fuckin’ bad. I can't take it anymore; tell him to bring in the damn morphine or something."  _When was the last time she had anything for pain?_

"S, when did you have pain medicine last? If you hurt this bad, it's been too long."

"Last night sometime, I dunno." She replies in a grumble, but the affect she was going for gets lost in a sniffle as she tries not to blubber. My own tears threaten to fall, but I hold them in, I need to be strong for her, because whether she really wants me here or not, I'm not going anywhere. I could be a real bitch and abandon her for all the shit she has put me through lately, but I could never do that, no matter how much she may or may not hate me. This is a chance to make things right between us, and though I wish it were under better circumstances, I'm not going to waste it. I want her, damn it. Her friendship! I want her friendship back, not, I-I don't _want_ her. Not like that, I've never-

"Q? Any day now, I be hurtin’ over here." My thoughts are interrupted by the cheerio coming out to play, her voice still sounds shaky, but she also sounds in pain and desperate for relief.

I roll my eyes playfully and push the nurse call button. "S, why did you even wait so long for another dose? Are you really that stubborn? Jesus, I know you're in immense pain, you shouldn't make yourself suffer like that."

She tenses up, but doesn't answer. I'm ignored as one of the nurses comes in to see what we need. "I see your friend made it back, do you want that pain medicine now, Ms. Lopez?"

"Yeah, get her the highest dose possible, she hasn't had any since last night!" I reply for her, angered with her for being so stupid. The nurse, whose name tag reads...Hannah, smiles understandingly, nods, and then walks back out. The room goes silent after that, and I choose not to bother her anymore, not until she is more relaxed and pain free.

Minutes go by, and when the nurse comes back finally, I feel and hear Santana sigh. Hannah administers the drug with a soft, sympathizing smile. I watch Santana's facial features go from slightly grimacing, to fully relaxed and goofy, which makes me chuckle and want to hug her to me.

"There, all done. Get some rest now, okay? You need it. Your friend isn't going anywhere, so let yourself relax and sleep." I like this Hannah, she has great bedside manner and seems sweet. She gets no response from Santana, other than a slow, sleepy nod.

Hannah shakes her head with a laugh, smiles at me with a wink, and then leaves us alone again.  _What was up with the wink? Weird._  Santana turns her head my way, her tears have dried up, but her eyes are still glistening. Of course, that's most likely from the whatever is that they gave her. She blinks leisurely, and then stares at me with droopy eyes and a grin. "Hey there, Q, whatcha doin’? Couldn't resist layin’ all up in my bed again, eh? Is it comfy enough for you?"

Oh, so now she wants to talk? Maybe I should get her high more often; we could make some progress into building our friendship back up. My heart flutters under her intense gaze; I blink in surprise at the feeling, and then narrow my eyes in confusion. Why would she make me feel anything close to fluttery? I've never had that before, right? I push it to the back of my head, ignoring the feeling as if it were the plague, and then straighten my face up and answer her questions.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, and not really, it would be more comfortable if we were in my bed. I wish you weren't here, Santana. I know you're a bitch and all, but you didn't deserve this, and I really, really want to murder the monster who put you here." When I look back at her, she has her eyes closed and her breathing has evened out; she's asleep.

"Sweet dreams, S, I'm right here, just remember that." I close my eyes, too, so that I'll fall asleep with her. I'm hoping my presence will keep him away from her dreams.

I hope that I'm enough.

Movement under me startles me awake, and when it happens again, I gasp and press down onto the invading object. A soft moan emits from the body underneath mine, making my eyes pop open and me bolt up in realization. I was straddling Santana's leg and was curled up a little too cozily against her.

"I'm so sorry, did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I'm Fine, Q, though you might want to start working out or somethin’. Thanks for cutting off my air. No wonder I woke up so short of breath." Her words cut straight through me.

Why does she always make me feel so _fat?_ It's not like I was completely on top of her.

"I'm joking, take a chill pill. While you're at it, how abouts you get me some food? I'm famished." She rolls her eyes and pokes me in the stomach, and then grins, showing me her teeth. A jolt of... Something shoots right to my core and my pulse speeds up.

I'm not used to the feeling, like, at all really, because neither Finn nor puck elicited such a response by just barely touching me, let alone from making out. I mean, I felt something with them, just not so strongly. Why did a poke in the stomach and a showing of Santana's pearly whites make me so, so...aroused? No, no way, what the actual hell?

"Uh, lo? You gonna feeds me?" I'm knocked out of my thoughts, yet again, by one impatient patient, who, without me, would apparently go hungry.

"What am I, your slave? Do I have to spoon feed you, too?" I joke with her playfully, lightly poking her stomach where she had poked me a minute ago. She glares and slaps my hand away, and I stick my tongue out at her like a little kid.

She raises an eyebrow and then wiggles them suggestively. "Is that an invitation, Q?"

A blush covers my face at the thought of her kissing me and the thought of me inviting her to do so. "Since when did you need an invitation? You were pretty much molesting me in my sleep earlier, you perv."

"I did not molest you; all I did was move to get more comfortable. You just happened to be smothering me with your body. Not my fault that I hit your sweet spot, besides, weren't you the one who was humping my leg before you decided to freak out and bolt up?"

"What? I was not humping your leg, Santana! God, you sicko-"

"Erm, hi, guys." A quiet, familiar voice interrupts me from the doorway.

We both look over and find Sam standing there, eyeballing us with a flushed face. I blush more, knowing he heard at least my last sentence, if not our whole conversation.

_Great._

"Sam, hey. Um, ignore whatever you may have just heard; it wasn't what it sounded like." I greet him and speak awkwardly, feeling it. Jeez, how embarrassing. I can't believe we were even having that conversation, it was weird enough waking up like that, but to acknowledge it?

_Awkward._

"Right, you keep tellin’ yourself that, Q, and maybe you will end up believing it." Santana scoffs, and then mumbles her words out while looking at the arm fixed up in a sling. My gaze fixates on it as well, and I feel the tears start to prick my eyes just from looking at it. On impulse, I extend my hand towards hers, fingertips itching to touch the soft skin. They glide over her knuckles, making her start and jerk her head up in surprise. She meets my shy eyes with question, but I fix my stare on Sam.

I'm not sure what just happened, all I know is that I wanted to touch her, to show her some kind of affection. She needs to know that I care, even though we haven't been the same in so long. Sam, observng us with confusion and curiosity, steps further into the room and cautiously over to the bed.

"So, how are you feeling? Are you doing any better?"

"I feel good, great even. Enough to go home." Santana puts on a mask, one I can see right through. Sam more than likely can see past her lies, too.

She may want to go home, but I know for a fact that she feels like shit. She can't go home anyway, there's no way she will go back there, and even if it were possible, I wouldn't let her. I'm talking to mom as soon as I see her next; she has to let San's family stay with us.

I want her in my bed, safe and sound with no chance of that bastard getting his demon hands on her.

"Well, that's...good. Listen, I just wanted to see how you were, I was scared when that officer called me and started questioning me about that night, and asking if I was unharmed. I really can't believe someone shot you, it's tough to process, but I'm glad you made it through." Sam replies quietly, scuffing his feet on the floor and looking truly worried over Santana.

Blowing out a gust of air, she closes her eyes tightly. "Thanks, Sam, for being here and shit. You haven't told any of the others, have you? Cause, seriously? I'm not ready to face them yet. You, Q, B and the munchkin are enough, at least for now, until I get settled in at h-home."

"No, I haven't said anything, even though I was tempted to. This is about you and what you and your family want to do, it isn't up to any of us to blab off that the former second in command cheerio, Santana Lopez got shot in her home. Unless Rachel and Brittany told the rest of the club, you wait until you're ready and stable enough to handle them." Sam answers her with honesty, having respected her privacy enough to not go gossiping to anyone else. I respect him for that.

"I could kiss you right now, Sam. I really didn't want to deal with their drama. I wouldn't have any space for a very long time, and I needs my space, you know?" The thought of her kissing Sam makes me nauseous, and her other words, about space, makes my heart drop.  _Does she mean me, too? Do I need to give her space? I don't want to go anywhere, in fact, I'm not, nope. I am staying my ass right here until she kicks me out._

"No problem, but now that I know you're doing better, I'm going to have to jet. I snuck away for a while from my parents; they don't know I'm here. I'll talk to you tomorrow, to see if you made it home okay, or well, where are you going to-"

"Good evening, ladies, Sam. We need to speak with our patient and check on her vitals, could you give us a minute?" Doctor Cain intersects Sam's sentence as he strides into the room all professional like.

Sam nods and gives Santana a kiss on her cheek, and then tugs me away from the bed and out the room. We pass Santana's parents as they enter room 203, where my feisty frienemy lays broken and sad. Pulled along to the waiting room, I gaze around, and my eyes meet my mother's from her usual seat. Seeing us causes her to rise out the chair and amble towards us. "Hey, sweetie, how is she?"

The three of us walk out, starting up a conversation. I tell them about the nightmare she had, and how I tried comforting her by holding her the best I could. We go to the cafeteria and fill up on coffee and snacks until Sam tells us he really has to leave. After he goes, mom and I head back up, me holding onto her for my own comfort. The doctor meets us outside Santana's door with a small smile. "She's asking for you."

I pass him without hesitation, opening the door and strolling in there right to her bed. She looks up at me sleepily, yet guarded. I know that look because we wear it constantly.

"Our parents have come to an agreement, one that has us staying in your house temporarily, while everything gets sorted out. My little brother is safely tucked away with our older sister and her family out of state, so it would just be us three. My question is, could you even handle me in the same space as you, or-"

" _Yes._ Our history doesn't matter right now, S. What matters, is you being somewhere safe, somewhere with a real bed and a friend to help take care of you. Your health is more important than our stupid high school rivalry, okay?" I answer her straight away; taking the chance God gave us to rebuild us to something even better, stronger.

I can't help it, I have to try.

"Wonderful, everything will be taken care of by the time you are released tomorrow. I'm relieved and happy that you both agree with this; I want to do this for your family, Santana. I'm going to go back home to set things in order. Quinn will keep you company." Mom speaks up from beside me, smiling warmly between us, and then after a quick hug and a see you all later, she's gone. Mrs. Lopez tags along, leaving daddy Lopez with us.

Yawning loudly, he excuses himself; I guess being left alone with two teenage girls wasn't all that appealing to him. I end up yawning, too, which makes Santana yawn, accompanied by a depressing groan. My tired body finds home in her bed, and instantly I can smell that she has been given a bird bath or something while we were gone. Whatever they did, she looks even more exhausted than before.

"I'm tired, Q, so fuckin’ tired." She whispers, and her eyes close even before my own head hits her pillow.

I cuddle as close as possible, not caring that I might wake up later in a compromising position; she needs this, even if she won't admit it out loud.

"I know, S, I know. Go to sleep, I've got you and won't let him touch you here. Not while I'm by your side. Dream of me, or B, don't let him get in your head."

_Tomorrow is a new day, the day I get to take you home and keep you safe._  

I'll be damned if he breaks her, he can't win this, I won't let him. I will see Santana through all of the pain, and help her heal, as long as she doesn't try to push me completely away. Even then, I'll push back until she gives and lets me in.

"Hey, Q?" She breathes out drowsily, half asleep already.

Smiling down at her, I run my fingers through her hair."Yeah?"

"You forgots to feed me, bitch."

Letting loose an abrupt laugh, a feeling of familiarity sweeps over me.

I squeeze her gently, affectionately, and close my eyes with her. She says nothing else; her breathing evening back out.

"I'll make sure to have breakfast in bed prepared for when you wake up." I whisper in her hair, and then let the sandman take me into his willing arms.


	6. Chapter 6

Monday morning, 7:00am. Santana

"Santana, time to wake up." I'm woken by a soft voice and warm breath against my ear that makes me shudder. I groan out, though, not wanting to be awake yet.

My dreams, for once, were filled with silence; there were no attempted murderers or missing best friends, just a calm darkness.

"I know you're awake, I can hear the wheels turning in your head, and if I weren't scared you would kick my ass, I would say that you were smiling. But, seeing as you are the infamous badass Santana Lopez, I'll refrain from saying it." My eyes pop open at that, for one, she's talking too much for me to lie here contently, and two, she is actually making the infamous badass Santana Lopez smile even more.

I turn the smile into a smirk as my gaze lands on her; she's standing beside the bed, near my head. "Have you been spending time with the midget, Q? Because I swear you were rambling as much as her." She rolls her eyes, scoffing out at the very idea of spending time with Berry, which I can’t really blame her for... who in their right mind would give up precious time to hangout with Rachel Berry? If she's as annoying as she is at school, I'm sure being alone with her would drive us to insanity.

"And when would I have had time to do that, S? I've been here with you almost twenty four seven. Anyway, I just wanted to wake you up before I left for school, Mom wouldn't let me skip, so I'm not going to see you again until I get home."

The thought of not seeing her all day sucks, because now that she's been here by my side almost non stop, I've grown used to her presence and don't want her to go. Her even being here, staying with me though we aren't best friends anymore, is pretty shocking. I'm surprised she is willingly in the same room as me, seein’ as I have made her recent life hell. I've gone out of my way to treat her like shit just so I don't push her against the lockers for a heated make out session. Or worse, fall into her arms and confess everything, to let the flood gates open wide and drown her.

Maybe the several hour separation is for the best, I'mma be seeing her ass every day once I'm moved into her house. I could use the space to help re build my walls back up. I don't like being vulnerable, at all, not even in front of my ex best friend. What if I give in to temptation and end up laying one right on her irresistible looking lips, all because I've become too damn vulnerable in the wake of my attempted murder?

No, I can't risk that; I can't risk losing her over my stupid feelings.

God, why? Why do I feel like this for her, for Quinn of all people? Why couldn't it have stayed simple with B? Okay, it hasn't exactly been 'simple' with her, in the beginning yeah, we flirted playfully until we admitted to a physical attraction towards each other and then started fucking. Simple as pie.  Not so much anymore; I fell in love with Brittany and falling in love, for me, isn't simple, even when it should have been one of the simplest things ever. And now? My forgotten, very Real feelings for Q resurfaced after things with Britt started to fizzle out, so yeah, simple is just a thought, a wish, it's just a word and doesn't apply to my life in any aspect.

"San? Helllooo? Santana!" I jerk my head up in Quinn's direction, startled out of thinking from the shout of my name. She looks worried, her eyebrows scrunched up and a frown placed on her lips, in which I am immediately drawn to. I have to force myself to look away before she notices and ends up freaking out or something.

"Where were you? Are you all right? I called out to you several times, but you just, you weren't here." Concerned, she inches closer and I catch the twitch of her hand, as if she wants to reach out and touch me.

I put on a mask of indifference and roll my eyes to up the effect. "I must have dosed off. I’m still tired; some blonde girl woke me up and disturbed my sleep."

She frowns, a look of guilt coming over her pretty face, and then her eyes, suspiciously misty, cast away from me and find solace on my heart monitor. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to disturb you. Here's your breakfast, I have to go."

The rolling tray is pushed where I can reach it, and I gaze at the bowl of Reece puffs, open bottle of 2% milk, OJ, and banana in front of me. Before I can say anything, Quinn is speeding out the room and is out the door in seconds. Well, shit. There I go again, opening my big mouth and inserting both feet, hurting her in the process. It’s better this way, though, right? Right. She's safe from my complicated feelings, spared from imminent doom. No one wants in on this; no one is going to want me for anything other than a meaningless fuck. Q included.

Not that she would want even that, no, she wouldn't, doesn't want me in any romantic or sexual way. Therefore, I have to protect her, to keep her safe from my sad, pathetic and pointless longing. She doesn't want a slut whose only job will be working on a pole, even if I were to work that shit better than any of those bitches, and make the sexiest, badass stripper to ever grace the earth.

I have to do this; I have to shield her from myself at all costs.

It's better this way.

The fact that she not only brought me breakfast that's not hospital food, but my favorite cereal has me dumbfounded and more confused then ever. She is making an effort to help take care of me, to be here for me when she should be at home laughing at my expense. Okay, I know she wouldn't laugh at me, she isn't that cruel, but she should hate me. So why in the hell is she here, not hating me? Pity? Right, that's it, she pity's me.

Fuck that shit; I do not need her damn pity, or anything from her, not a damn thing. I don't need her here, I don't need to look into her eyes so that I'll forget everything around me, I don't need her to hold me so that I'll feel safe and cared for, like nothing could hurt me as long as I'm encircled in her embrace. Or her hands brushing through my hair, making my eyes close in contentment as I think of staying there forever, just to feel her fingers on me.

No, Santana Lopez doesn't need that shit.

I glower down at the cereal and poor the milk in it as I ignore the fresh tears racing down my face. I'm glad she isn't here to see me sniveling all over the place; actually, I'm relieved that none of them are here right now. I am better off alone, it's not as if I need them babysitting and suffocating me with their over worrying. I take a deep breath in, to help reign in my tears and to calm myself down, then let it out slowly.

What comes out, though, is a loud sob.

Sometime later, my parents finally come back in the room, along with my doctor. I'm glad I composed myself earlier, or they would have fawned all over me. At least my parents care. I know they love me and I'm thankful for that. Mom smiles at me as she comes over and slips her hand into mine, "The good doctor is going to give you one more looking over, then if you get a clean bill of health, we will be able to get you out of here."

Those are the best words I've heard all morning.

What seems like hours later, after getting poked and prodded, re scanned, hooked to an EKG and then having to pee in a cup, the doc and a new guy I've never seen before comes into my room. Hopefully, to tell me good news so that I can get the fuck out of here.

Doctor Cain stands by the bed and gives me this look, a look I know all too well, because my parents give me the same one when they are dead serious. "After looking over your x-ray, MRI and the EKG, I found everything to be normal under the circumstances. It's going to take awhile for the GSW to heal on the surface, and even longer for your insides to heal up. Your blood pressure is slightly high, but that's to be expected since you have been under a lot of stress. I'm going to release you from our care, I know how much you don't want to be here any longer, but the only reason I'm letting you go is because of this man."

I listen intently to every word, feeling relieved that things are in normal range, but as the last words leave his mouth, I tense and fill with unveiled confusion.

"Who are you?" I eye him critically.

He smiles softly and moves to stand beside my doctor; he’s a tall, light skinned African American with a puff of curly hair. There is something familiar about him that I can't put my finger on, but I know that I haven't ever seen him before, so what is it?

"My name is LeRoy Berry; you go to school with my daughter. In fact, she is the one who told me about your situation."

W-What? No fucking way did that blabbermouth tell her daddy anything about me! Oh, she is so dead, so, so _dead_. She had no right; this is my business, not hers to gossip about.

"Your daughter had no right to get all up in my business, Mr. Berry. We aren't even friends, so why did she tell you and why the hell are you here?"

Yes, I admit that my anger is misplaced, and that I shouldn't be taking it out on Rupaul's dad, but I'm furious and when I get like this, I happen to revert to bitch mode. Whom else did she tell? I bet she ran her big ass mouth to the whole damn glee club.

Daddy Berry looks taken aback, but then he gets over the shock and glares me down, making me feel pretty damn shitty.

"My daughter obviously cares enough about you to consult with me, or she wouldn't have ever said anything. Yes, I know that you two are not friends in any sense of the word, but she has a big heart and regardless of your history, she wanted the best care for you for when you were released from the hospital. And, knowing that I am a physical therapist of twelve years and a M.D. years before that, she chose me to be the one to give you the best care. I am here so that you can leave the hospital, yet have the medical care you need for when you are settled in over at the Fabray's. You will still need observing and daily check ups on your vitals and wound while it is still healing. So, if you want to get out of here now, today, let me know. Otherwise, you will have to stay here for another week at least." My first thought after his little speech is guhhh? Only because, not only am I speechless, but my thoughts are, too. I mean, what am I supposed to think? Or even say? Berry and Q must be in some kind of freak race to see who can confuse me the most, and the quickest.

I'm still pissed at her, but my eagerness to get out of this place, out of this bed and into a real one, is overriding my pissy mood. "Fine, if being in a real bed and watched over by a doctor in Q's home means no more hospital, I'll gladly take it." I sigh out and sort of reluctantly give in.

Mr. Berry and the doc both smile at me and then at each other. "Great. We'll get your parents to sign the release papers, and then you can get the hell out of here." Mr. Berry replies with a chuckle, and I look at him in surprise after he tosses out a casual curse word.

The doctor laughs with him and takes another glance at me, apparently getting ready to speak again. "I'll have a nurse come in and help you dress. Take care, Ms. Lopez, try not to overdo it, I don't want to see you back here worse off than what you were, all right?" I nod at the doctor, silently agreeing with him and knowing I can't afford to 'overdo it'.

I almost _died_ ; I can't go through that again, ever.

He nods back. "I will call you when your blood and urine tests come back." He then walks out with another smile in my direction, leaving me lightly blushing at his words.

Good thing I haven't smoked any reefer lately, or I'd be in a shit load of trouble.

A few minutes later, Nurse Hannah walks in with a warm smile, coming over and wasting no time in helping me sit up on the edge of the bed to take out the IV and unhook the heart monitor.

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm actually going to miss you. I hate that you're here like this, it would have been better if you were at the hospital visiting me for lunch, instead of shot up in a hospital bed." She winks, and I flush at her obvious flirting.

I'm flattered, I _really_ am, because the woman is blonde, curvy in all the right places, and a total babe, yet someone flirting with me other than _my_ blonde, does nothing for me.

Not anymore, no matter how hot they are.

She is sweet, though, and not too much older than me. "That does seem like a better prospect. You seem pretty cool, Hannah, and I’m glad you stayed my nurse and not the ogre I've seen in here a couple of times. She looked pretty scary."

Hannah chuckles at that as she grabs a small bag, one that happens to be Q's favorite khaki messenger bag; it has a biohazard symbol on the front and hanging dog tags with her initial on it. Quinn used to bring that thing to every sleepover we had at mine or Britt's, and I used to feel pride every time it found its place in my room beside the bed. I'm the one who bought it and had her initial engraved on the dog tag. I remember wanting mine on there, too, so it would read Q & S or some shit. Then Brittany distracted me and made me forget all about it.

Made me forget Quinn.

"That ogre has a name, its Ava; she's actually very sweet, despite her scary appearance. She's been here for ten years and has never had a problem with our patients." Hannah lightly slaps my leg while pulling out clothes, Q's clothes to be exact.

I instantly smell her on them and it's making me want to strip down and slide them on, so that I can smell her on me all damn day. And yes, I know how cheesy that sounds, but do I give a fuck? No. I'm allowed to feel, damn it. And her scent is making me feel a hell of a lot.

"Your friend brought these for you to wear. I'm going to have to take the sling off and it's going to hurt some, so bear with me." She explains quietly while giving me a sympathetic smile, I frown, not ready to be in more pain, but ready to get it over with.

By the time she's done dressing and sliding the sling back on me, I am hurting so bad that I feel like I’m gonna keel over from the pain. I tell her so in a less whiny, pussy manner; she just gives me a knowing look, seeing right through me. "Don't worry, I'm going to give you one last dose of liquid Demerol before you leave, then after that you're going to have to start taking pain pills."

And she does just that, minutes later. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is being lifted up from a wheelchair and then set down into the car. I wake up what seems seconds later from my body being jostled around. This time, though, I am being carried up some stairs as my eyes flutter open and shut, then right before they close again I'm laid down on a silky cloud and then tucked into its cool, soft depths. I feel like I'm floating, but yet, I'm tethered to this cloud that smells and feels like... Safety.  Like _home_. I am wrapped up in the best smell I have ever smelt before, a scent that I'm all too familiar with, an aroma that is sweet and heady, and all _Quinn's._

* * *

 

Earlier, 7:10am. Quinn

The ride to school is depressing and has me over thinking everything that has happened in the last few days, everything to do with Santana anyway. She is driving me absolutely _crazy_. I haven't spent this much time with her in ages, and it's definitely not the way I pictured us spending time together. But, it's all I have, except she isn't making it easy. She is trying to push me away and it is killing me. That song I'm supposed to sing? Yeah, it won't be hard to pick one out; I've got one in mind already that has been sitting there waiting to be sung. My question is how and when do I sing it? She obviously can't go to school yet, and by the time she can, the assignment will be over. I can't sing to a person who isn't there.

_Crap, what am I supposed to do about telling the others why she isn't there? What if Berry already told them? Why is this my problem, surely San's parents called the school by now and told Figgins?_

I pull into the school parking lot early enough to go find the annoying little gnome, so I can see if she has opened her mouth about Santana or if they already know from Figgins or Mr. Schue. I doubt either, because even though S is a major bitch, all of them would have at least called. And some, if not all, would have gone to the hospital to see her. Right?

As soon as I make it inside, I head straight to the one room I know Berry will be in, the choir room. I'm unsurprised when I do indeed find her in here, she is at the piano, playing a soft melody and singing just as softly along to it. I don't recognize the song; her voice is serene and tranquil, but no less powerful if she were to be singing one of her Broadway hits.

I'm respectful enough to wait and let her finish the beautiful, sad song. I may not have heard it before, but I'm listening to the lyrics as she sings and the words are ones of pain, need, and yearning. Tears and sadness can be heard in her voice. She powers through the emotions until the very last note, then everything stops and she slumps down, laying her head on top of the piano. I shouldn't be in here, this is a private moment, and I know if our positions were switched, I'd want to be left alone in my misery. No, the Quinn before Beth was conceived would have, but now, would I want to be alone?

I'm already alone, so no, I want my best friend back more than anything. I'd imagine Rachel is lonely and just wants a friend, any friend. The sight before me is honestly heart breaking. Making up my mind, I walk forward, closer to her in silent steps.

"Rachel?" I call her name faintly, just audible enough for her to hear me, but hopefully not to startle her. Wishful thinking, because she lifts her head and swings around like greased lightning, and I watch helpless as the bench falls over and her with it. She tumbles over the large bench to the floor, hard, hitting her back against it with a yelp.

Sprinting over with worry and a grimace, I help her up. "Oh my God, Rachel, are you okay? I'm so sorry!"

She groans out, wearing a pained and disoriented expression. "Quinn?"

"Yeah, hey, hi. You all right?"

"I'm fine, Quinn, you just scared the bejesus out of me is all, and it hurts a little, but I'll be okay. Is there something you needed, or did you just plan on scaring me and reaping the benefits?"

I'm not sure if I want to laugh or yell and glare at her.

Was that a joke or was she asking a serious question? Because she sure as hell isn't smiling, in fact, she is wiping furiously at her tears, trying to wipe away all traces of them.

_Shit._

"Berry, I really didn't mean to scare you, I came in here because I needed to ask you something. But, you were singing that song and I didn't want to interrupt you, and then you started crying-"

"What did you want to ask me, Quinn?" She cuts me off curtly, defensively, and with her guard back in place.

I sigh and look away from the pain still floating in her eyes, pain too strong and raw to cover up completely, "Do you know if anyone is aware of the situation with Santana?"

"Do you mean, did I tell them?" Her voice is accusing and knowing, edging on hard. I gaze at her, and her face is betraying the words instead of matching them, it is saddened and she has her arms crossed defensively and protectively.

Despite the apology I so eloquently gave her the other day; she appears to be just as depressed and heartbroken. Did something happen I don't know about?

"Yeah, that's what I thought. The answer is no, I did not tell anyone about her, except for my daddy. So, as far as I know, unless Santana's parents called Principle Figgins, no one knows yet." She must have taken my silence as answer, because she doesn't wait any longer to reply. Then before I am able to respond, she goes to speak again,

"Quinn, I know what I did was wrong, telling Finn he wasn't the father, and I'm truly sorry for that. Again, it wasn't my right. I selfishly _wanted_ him, he seemed like the perfect boyfriend and I wanted him for myself. It wasn't right and I honestly regret ever having done that to you. I think I was desperate for someone, anyone to like me that it didn't matter who I went through to get that. I've learned my lesson and would _never_ again divulge such drastic, life changing news that isn't mine to share."

She sounds honest to God apologetic, and if I were not convinced by her serious words, then the fresh tears falling down her cheeks does it for sure. Something possesses my hand after that, it slides into her own and squeezes gently. She looks up at me in surprise, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, then she glances at our hands and then back at me, wonder written all over her face.

"I've done so much to you, Rachel, what you did doesn't really tip the scale. We both regret the things we’ve done. It’s all in the past now, though, right? I mean, I'm not trying to downgrade what I've done to you at all, but I want things to _change_ , I really do. I want to change, Rachel, and though I have already started, I think it would make the process easier if I had friends on my side. Can you help me?" Finally responding after a deep breath, or attempting to since I'm not very articulate... I carefully take her hand, hoping she gets what I'm trying to say.

I have to admit that this is awkward, especially seeing as I'm not used to heart to hearts, and _the_ Quinn Fabray, one of the two's most feared girls at school, just asked _the_ Rachel Berry, our resident gleek and loser for help. Maybe I'm the one who fell, but instead of hitting my back, I cracked my head on the floor.

"Quinn, I-I don't know what to say. I know, it must be the apocalypse... But, honestly I need some time to think and process this morning’s events, and to maybe seize a couple pain killers from the nurse, because my back is starting to become a pain in my ass. Literately. Not that I don't want to help you! My answer isn't no, I mean, I am quite aware of how hard it was to say those words to me, and I'm not disregarding them or going to be rude or-"

"Whoa, Berry, relax. I understand. I do. This doesn't happen everyday, and I know it will take you time for what I said to sink in. I get it, I wouldn't trust me right off either, but this is _real_. I am even trying my damnedest to make things right between Santana and me. Just, let me walk you to the nurse first, and then I’ll leave you alone to think things through. Oh, and Rachel? Thank you for not gossiping about her, she really just needs space, even from me, apparently. When things get out of control in Glee later, don't crack, please. Not yet, not until her parents have called." It's my turn to cut her off, and then I'm rambling just as much as she was, pleading by the end.

"Of course, my lips are sealed, but how bad do you think its going to get in Glee?" Replying with understanding, she heads toward the open doorway, and we walk out together, starting a conversation until we’re at our destination.

The rest of the day goes by too damn slow for my liking, knowing that by now, Santana is at my house. Home without me. I'm hurt from earlier, her effort to push me away is breaking me, but I'm not giving up, there is still the song I'm singing that she needs to hear. She has to hear it, because the words relate to how I am feeling, she has to hear me sing them so she will understand what I need from her. I'm also anxious to see her again despite the hurt I am feeling. She’s going to be staying in my house, in my room and in my bed. I'll make sure of it, plus we only have one spare bedroom, the other is used as an office. 

_Lord, this is not going to be easy, living with her, but please give me the strength I need to push through her barriers._

By the time it's time for Glee, I have hid from and avoided any of our group as best as I could, and have ignored the 'Where is Ms. Lopez?' 'Has anyone seen Santana Lopez today?' and other questions from the teachers and some from other students who were mostly starting to gossip about her whereabouts. All eyes are on me as I enter the room, but I also ignore their gazes and opt to sit by Rachel for today. She smiles hesitantly at me, while the others look on in shock and confusion at my seating change.

"Q, do you know where Santana is? She hasn't been in any of her classes, and hasn't answered any of my texts all weekend, including today." Puck opens his mouth first and actually sounds a bit worried about my girl. Friend, damn it, my _friend!_

"Yeah, she sick or something, Barbie doll?" That's from Lauren.

"No, I know, you two finally had an all out brawl and you won. So, where did you stash her body?" Annd that one from Finn, he looks at me in pride, smile wide.

I roll my eyes and overlook them all.

Mr. Schuester strolls into the room, and it doesn't take but a second to realize his mood is somber and in no way cheerful as it usually is. He knows.

Here is where Glee is about to be replaced with Gloom.

"Hey, guys, I have an announcement to make, one regarding the question you have been wondering all day, where is Santana. Well, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Her father called principle Figgins and informed him that she has been in an accident over the weekend." Breaking the news, his face conveys his concern over her.

I snort out and clench my fists in my lap, what happened to her was no accident.

The room erupts into loud chatter and yells of 'What happened?' 'Where is she?' 'Is Santana okay?' and 'so, it's true, Q, you offed her?' The last one is from Puck, but even though the retort is a joke, his voice is strained and now he really is worried.

"Guy's settle down, Santana is alive and in the hospital. Her father didn't say what exactly happened, but that she's doing okay. Sadly, though, she won't be coming back to school for a while, whatever happened to her is serious."

"What the hell _did_ happen to her? _Fuck._ This isn’t cool. I'm going to go find out; I can't sit here knowing she's in the hospital hurt. We all need to go down there." Standing up abruptly, Puck’s chair slides backwards, and then after some the shock wears off the other's faces, they shoot up, too, all chattering loudly. I have to stop them; she isn't ready for this, no matter how good their intentions may be. She just isn't ready.

Hell, she isn't ready for me either, but I'm there for her regardless. I am the one person she cannot get rid of. The others, though? They have to wait until S gives them the o.k.

"Wait, stop! Santana can't have visitors right now, she is on complete bed rest and her doctor made strict orders for anyone other than her family not to go in her room yet. You're going to have to wait until those restrictions are lifted." I yell out to them before they can make it to the door. They all stop and stare at me, well, aside from Rachel and Sam; they are standing beside me, and B, who is still sitting down looking confused.

Schuester eyes me, as if reading the truth in my words or something.

I plead with my own eyes for him to go along with it; he nods his head in agreement then turns towards the group.

"She's right. I'm sorry, guys, but right now there isn't anything you can do. Go on home and rest up, one of us will call you when it's okay for you to visit Santana."

While an argument starts between them, I sneak out so that I won't be questioned on anything, though frustratingly it's hard to sneak past Puck, he see's me and follows. "Q, hold up. Just tell me she's okay, _please._ What happened and why didn't you tell any of us?"

"She's better. I can't tell you yet, though, it isn't my call, and I couldn't say anything because she didn't want me to. She’s waiting for when she is ready. Don't push, Puck, not now, please. I'm not saying anything without her permission. I'm sorry, I have to go." I ramble out, like I've been doing lately, while backing up. Then not waiting on him to reply, I run off down the hall and exit the school.

Santana really needs to open up to them about this; at least let them know she is honestly all right, as all right as she can be at this point. They are worried for her, all of them. We may seem to hate each other, but when it comes down to shit like this? We care. I care, so much. Caring is what she needs. She needs me, I know it. I hope it.

Okay, I'm not so sure anymore and that _scares_ me.

I'm at home before I know it, and I am pretty sure that means I broke a few laws to end up here so fast, but I don't care. I missed her today, even if she didn't miss me. So, I'm going inside my house and up to my room where I know she is, and I am going to lie there with her. "Hey, Quinnie, we're in the kitchen! Mrs. Lopez is teaching me how to cook. Dinner will be ready… When it's ready. Santana is in your room knocked out like a light, she has been pretty loopy since we brought her home. The last dose of Demerol they gave her was a big one!"

Mom's voice hollers out in greeting from the kitchen, I follow it and her voice grows quieter when she see's me. She sounds chipper, _happy_ , and has a big smile on her face. I smile back, shaking my head as I envelope her in a warm hug. "I love you, Mom."

"Oh, sweetie, I love you, too." She whispers and hugs me back snuggly. I let out a content sigh, give her a squeeze, and then pull back. My smile extends to San's mom, she nods at me, and then itching to go upstairs, I eagerly leave the room and head that way.

When I reach my door, it's closed; I set my hand on the doorknob, take a deep breath in, and then open it. My eyes land straight on the Santana shaped lump in my bed, she's propped up on her back, an arm set on a pillow that is on her lap to take the pressure off. Her breathing is even and she is letting out soft snores, I cannot help the smile that spreads across my face, she's just so damn adorable like this. Minus the sling and patched up bullet wound, of course.

Or not at all, because when did I start to think that she's adorable?

Whatever, she _is._

I stride over to the other side of the bed, stripping of my school clothes and shoes, then throw on a tank top that is for whatever reason on my nightstand. The sheets feel cool against my skin as I slide under them and closer to my injured friend. But, before I'm able to get too comfortable, my door opens and in walks mom and Mrs. Lopez, looking much like Schuester did earlier.

S' mom comes closer, standing over on my side and looking down at me with unshed tears, "I just got off the phone with officer Hanz and he gave me some disturbing news."

Uh oh, shit, what could he have said? I automatically lay my hand on Santana’s thigh under the covers, needing to touch her while her mom tells me whatever this _news_ is.


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, what did he say? Should we wake-"

"No. No, she doesn't need to hear this, not right now. Come back downstairs so I can fill all of you in." Mrs. Lopez cuts me off quickly. Her eyes are watery and she looks pretty shaken up. Something must be very wrong, and not knowing what it is scares me, but at least she is willing to share the given information with us.

I give Santana's thigh a gentle squeeze, needing the touch for extra strength for what we're about to hear, and then reluctantly remove my hand. After making sure she is tucked in and visibly comfortable, I meet our mothers at the doorway, where they both give me odd looks. Mom's eyebrows are scrunched up in a seemingly confused expression, which confuses me as to why she is looking that way.

Mrs. Lopez, or Mrs. Teresa as I used to call her, has one lone eyebrow raised.

I frown and look at them questioningly. "What's wrong? Do I have something on my face?" My hands instantly start to rub over the area, searching for anything that could be causing our mothers' to look at me like that.

I find nothing and Teresa's face becomes amused as she sprouts a smirk.

"Quinnie, you have no pants on! You can't go parading around down there in front of Mr. Lopez in just your underwear." My mom, with her eyes wide and hands moving dramatically to prove her point, stage whispers close to my face disapprovingly, reminding me of my state of undress and causing me to blush from deep embarrassment.

I give them both sheepish looks. Mom sighs with a shake of her head while leaving the room and Mrs. Lopez's smirk widens as she follows after her. "Uh, be right down!" I call after them, hurry to throw on the closest item of clothing lying around, take a longing glance at my bed, then head downstairs for the awful news I'm sure is about to be shared.

All three of our parents are [nursing](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6967123/7/Discovering-why) hard drinks while sat in the living room, where there is growing tension spreading out in the large space. Mom has me sit beside Mr. Lopez, aka: Mr. Juan, who is watching his wife and waiting curiously, yet with apprehension as well. The smirk she had gave me just minutes ago is gone with no trace of ever being there, instead, it is replaced with a much darker expression, one that has me more than worried and a little intimidated. I'm just glad it isn't pointed at me or anyone in this room.

"Officer Hanz called to confirm the identity of our daughters attempted murderer. All of the prints they had gathered in our home were ours. That monster must have worn gloves or wiped everything he touched clean. Fortunately, they found blood stains on the bat Santana used to bust his head open with. It was a match to Xavier Sanchez-"

"That son of a bitch, I never had a doubt that it was him, even though he is supposed to be in prison, there was no doubt. I know him and his family, and he will stop at nothing to avenge his wife's death. Have they any leads on his location, or is the fucker still on the streets, free to hurt innocent little girls?" Mr. Lopez butts in angrily, pissed as hell; there is murder in his eyes for what Sanchez did to their precious daughter.

The same look San's mom had, no, _has_. And it's the exact same look one Rachel Berry had when I had told her what happened to Santana. I'll never forget the expression she wore, just like I'll never forget the way both Santana's mami and papi look right at this moment.

"No, they haven't caught him yet. The officer told me something else about him, though. He apparently got out of prison early on good behavior, at least that's what the cover story is. Hanz had his team dig up all they could, it wasn't hard. The judge who was on his case ten years ago was corrupt, all it took was time to make Xavier getting out believable and promised money from his Sanchez’s family after he was released and safely back home. The judge's son overheard him talking to Sanchez on the phone the night of his release, he learned enough to go to the police that night to turn his father and Sanchez in. When the police came later to take him in for questioning, they found the judge dead in his study." Mrs. Lopez continues telling us all she knows, all that she was told over the phone, in a voice strained from keeping her composure and tears from escaping.

She's jittery now, face pinched, and hand clutching onto her glass hard enough to turn her knuckles white. Something tells me there is more and she is having trouble even thinking about it. All of us are silent and anxious as she takes the time to lift the glass up and take mouthfuls of the numbing liquid, but we are also patient, knowing this is hard for her to relay to us. Mom lays a comforting hand on Teresa's free one, the gesture sweet and something I'm not used to. Only recently has she been remotely comforting and back to being a nurturing mother. We were hardly a touchy feely family, not even to each other in times of great need. Dad had said it was weak, and that we didn't need to coddle one another. He told me that we are Fabray's, and Fabray's are strong and brave, enduring.

Mom of course went along with it, as she had done with almost everything he said or did, yet I remember a time when mom would be loving, having no reservations about hugging or even touching my sister and me gently like she did to Mrs. Teresa with that comforting hand of hers. It would be enough, but even that dwindled away until the comfort of our mother’s arms went completely away. So seeing her like this and experiencing it again after so long without it means everything to me.

Finally, after a shuddery breath and reigning in her pain, Mrs. Lopez carries on.

"You know the man Sanchez killed during your court ordered search in his home? His son was found deceased in his bed. The boy's mother was absent and there were no signs of anyone else in the house, not even a baby sitter or relatives. The reason our own cops were not aware of all of this was because the judge's son didn't hear of the location Xavier was going to next." The rest of the news tugs at my already afflicted heart and brings tears to my eyes; I let them build, not bothering to wipe them away.

There’s no point when I know more will only follow.

I look Teresa straight in hers, feeling enraged and sick. "How did he die?"

She looks taken aback by the pure emotion seeping through those four words. "Quinn-"

"No. Tell me how." I growl out and stand up, hands closing into fists hard enough for my nails to dig into my palms. The slight pain is minuscule compared to the mental pain I am feeling right now. I can handle the physical aspect of pain, it doesn't compare to anything Santana has been through, what that innocent boy went through.

"He didn't say, sweetie." Mrs. Lopez answers with a quiver in her voice, obviously thinking the same thing as me. The boy was shot, except in a place more fatal. That could have been Santana. Mom must sense that I'm about to lose it, because she gets up and walks over to me, her steps cautious, yet on a mission. Right as she steps in front of me, I snatch the glass out of her hand and down what's left, ignoring the burn as it slides down my throat, through my chest and down into my belly.

Biting down hard on my bottom lip, enough to relish in the sharp pain, I hurl the glass at the wall in a fit of uncontrollable rage. It thunks against the mantel above the fireplace, shattering on impact into chunks of unfixable pieces.

I’m the only one who doesn’t flinch or gasp.

"Oh, Baby, come here." Mom pulls me into her arms; I go without resistance. "I know this is difficult; your childhood friend, the girl I babysat and watched you grow up with, their daughter, one of the lights of their lives, was shot in cold blood. It’s hard on all of us, what that man, _no_ , he is no man, what that _demon_ did was horrible and sick. But Santana is okay, she's alive and thriving, so you shouldn’t let what ifs and what could have beens rule over your emotions. There is no point in letting things like that take over; nothing can be changed, no matter how much you wish it. She needs you in the present." She calmly speaks in my ear, while rubbing up and down my back comfortingly.

Mom barely even gave her stolen and now very broken glass a second glance. She is being really understanding, taking how I feel and putting it above scolding me for being rude, drinking illegally, and breaking one of her expensive glasses.

I bury my head in her neck, letting the tears flow freely. She wraps her arms securely around me, holding me tightly while I cry as much of the pain and anger away as I can.

When I'm decently calmed down enough, I pull back, sniffling and wiping at my tears.

I feel another presence at my side, they pull me to them, and I fall into strong arms and a manly chest. "Quinn, I know how much you care for our daughter, and it fills me with pride knowing she has such a great friend that is willing to look over the problems that crazy girl hormones and high school has caused, to be there for her regardless of the growing space between you. We have known you basically since we moved here, and even though you and our baby girl aren't as close as you once were, I see that you both still love each other."

"I also know that if you continue to push through those walls she has firmly in place, she will give in and open back up. She needs you. She thinks that she doesn't, but I know that she does, very much so. She has always needed you. You're so good for her, Quinn." I'm shocked and surprised, but pleasantly so as Mr. Lopez gives me a little speech, a pick me up better than any alcoholic beverage could give me.

Another round of tears comes pouring out and streaming down my cheeks, though these aren't from anger or hatred, or even from the pain all of this bullshit is causing this amazing family. The tears are from the connection made with Santana's father, her papi, from him understanding us and making me feel worthy of his beautiful daughter's friendship.

He just cemented my resolve and determination to build mine and Santana’s relationship back the way it was. No, better than that, stronger with no room for distrust and manipulation. No room for cruelty or bringing each other down just to reach the top of something so trivial and unimportant in the long run. Best friends are supposed to be there for one another no matter what, a true friend wouldn't take the first opportunity they had to do something that would tear and rip their friendship apart.

We are going to be unbreakable. That is if she doesn't break me first. 

 _Okay, Fabray, just remember how you two were growing up, how we can have that again and so much more if you don't give up. If you give up, she will think that she has won, but that wouldn't be true, we both would lose. You cannot lose her, Quinn. Ever. You need Santana just as much as she needs you._  

The sudden urge to see her, to touch her, is strong, fierce even. So I hug her brave and caring father, squeeze him snuggly, and then step away.

"May I be honest with you?"

He looks at me slightly confused, but nods with a soft smile. "Of course you can, in fact, if you were ever un-honest, I'd be greatly offended."

I chuckle at that and smile back, then gaze at him with a vulnerability I haven't shown in long time.

"My father was a hypocrite and he would lie through his teeth to anyone if our family name was in some way threatened, or if it was just more convenient than the truth. He was mean and unloving, verbally abusive to mom and me, too strict and he is a homophobe. He despises my friend Rachel Berry and her two fathers with every fiber of his being. I believe he loved his reputation more than us, except maybe my sister, he holds a special place in his cruel heart just for her. He's everything you are not. You have been more of a father to me than my own and I will always be thankful for you. I don't hate him, I just love you more. I don't need him when I have my mother, whom I love with all my heart, and you, Teresa, and Santana."

Everyone in the room is shedding tears by the time I'm finished, myself included, all of it spilling forth without thought or preparation. I was speaking from my heart and meant every word. He pulls me in again, picks me up slightly, and crushes me to his body. I let out a surprised squeak, and then a giggle as I hug him back. He smells of spice, of man, and of safety. It's good to be able to smell that. It's comforting.

He finally sets me down with a whispered heartfelt thank you, and then pushes me toward the archway of the living room, apparently knowing what I need. But first, I turn back to hug Mrs. Lopez and then my mother, letting them know I love them both so much. I am told supper will be brought up to us shortly, and then once again, I am nudged away.

As I finally head out, walking determinedly toward my destination, the doorbell dings throughout the foyer, ruining everything. I growl out and stomp over, yanking the door open with a cold glare, ready to scare whoever it is back where they belong, which is away from here, away from Santana and me. All I want is to be alone with her. However, when I'm met with Rachel flinching away in fear, my face softens and I deflate, but it only lasts for a split second, because she is falling backwards off the porch with a look of sheer horror.

I gasp and dart out the door with a speed I wasn't aware I possessed and enclose on her hand, jerking it and her back to safety. She clings to me like a lifeline, trembling, and her breath heavy against my neck.

"Damn it, Rachel, am I going to have to lock you in a padded room?" I quip and hold her to me as my heart races from what was about to happen. She already hurt herself once today; we don't need to be power washing her blood off our stone pathway. She wrenches out of my grasp and stares at me with hurt lacing her features. A few tears sprinkling down her face only adds to the sudden guilt I feel for saying what I just did. I didn't even mean it how it sounded, she took it wrong, though can I blame her? No.

"Is that what you think of me, Quinn? Am I some crazy, mental girl that needs to be locked away with her own kind? It's a good thing I'm not here for you, or I would leave so you wouldn't have to spend time with the crazed imbecile. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another ex-cheerio to irritate before I take my leave." Her face hardens with a glare that even makes _me_ reel from the intensity of it.

She pushes past me and storms inside before I get a chance to apologize and correct myself; I blink, rooted to the spot for several moments, not knowing what to do.

She's here for Santana, to see her; she is here to see Santana. She's going upstairs to my room, where Santana is resting in my bed, alone. What is Berry thinking? S is going to flip her shit. I turn on my heel and hurry after her, wasting no more time idling outside while there is a chance some unneeded violence is taking place in my bedroom. But when I barge in, there is no yelling or spilling of blood, just silent observation. Rachel is watching Santana, regarding her with an expression I can't decipher as the slumbering patient remains unaware of anything concerning the outside world.

I step closer.

"Rachel, why are you here?" She startles, meaning she had to have been in deep thought.

She turns to face me, and instead of seeing the admittedly scary glare from earlier, I see so much more. Confusion, confliction, worry, care. Her face is showing such raw vulnerability; it's quite shocking and painful to look at.

I have to look away.

"I wanted to see her." She whispers, peering back at Santana and moving over to my bed. I don't understand her; Santana has relentlessly made Berry's life a living hell, treating her as low as a piece of dirt from the bottom of her shoe, every damn day. Yet, here she is, actually _wanting_ to be here, to see one of her tormentors, and in a more unsafe zone - for her that is - no less.

She knows that Santana hates her, knows first hand that Santana treats her like shit, like she's nothing at all, so why is Rachel here?

I would get it if she showed simple concern and had only visited the hospital to show that she cares enough to see how Santana is doing. That would be normal, but everything she is doing, all the emotion she has shown, being overly worried for someone who has tortured her all through high school, it isn't normal, not for it to be aimed at my best friend. There has to be something more, something Rachel is feeling but not saying and I honestly want to know what that something is.

She has me intrigued.

"Why didn't you call? She has been sleeping, resting because her body needs it." My voice isn't harsh, I'm trying to be better with that, however, it's enough of a hint for her to realize she needs to go back home. I may want to know why she is so suddenly smitten or whatever with Santana, but I still want to be alone.

I want her to go for now so that I can hold my suffering friend.

"I did. And, yes, she has been sleeping all day, so it won't hurt her to wake up for a few minutes to greet her company." She replies, appearing to be speaking more to Santana than me while sitting carefully down beside her

Santana’s eyebrows crinkle up, but she otherwise doesn't react.

Hold up, she called? When? I didn't hear my phone go off, or any phone for that matter. I stroll over to my nightstand to check my cell for any missed calls, there are none. Who the hell did she call? She doesn't have anyone else's number in this house, except...San's. Oh. Would Rachel really risk the ex-cheerio's wrath by actually calling her? I glance around for her phone and find the device by its owner; I then quickly obtain it to check.

Would S even answer if Rach called her?

She doesn't even look like she has been awake in a while.

"What are you doing, Quinn? Don't you know it's rude to look through other peoples things? What if I grabbed yours and started-"

"You already did that, remember? You're the one who put _your_ number in _my_ phone, so don't even. Did you call her or not? It isn't in the calls log." I interject with an eye roll, but not really out of anger, more out of amusement. Berry amuses me.

 _No._ No, she does not amuse me, she annoys me. Rachel Berry is annoying.

"I remember and I am terribly sorry for that, it was rude and disrespectful of me. I just, I, never mind. Back to your other question, no I did not call her-"

"You texted her." I say, seeing where they went back and forth.

Nodding, she blushes when I look her way; she also appears to be sheepish and embarrassed, shy. Why is she flushing like that and what in the world did they even talk about? I open the messages up, not caring if it is an invasion of privacy. I need to know what they said, or if Santana was mean. This is all for research, nothing else.

I read the first text, it's from Rachel (RuPaul), ugh those stupid nick-names make me sick, how can Berry still want to be around us?

-Good evening, Santana. I know I am the last person you want texting your cell phone, however, I really need to talk to you. It is important, and I promise it has nothing to do with glee. ~ R

-Not so good anymore, no thanks to you. And yeah, you're right. So what could you possibly have to talk to me about? Your life _is_ glee, Berry. ~S

-You don't know me, I have a life outside of glee and Broadway musicals, it's just that no one cares enough to give me a chance. I would prefer if we talked in person, may I come over? ~R

-Why would I put myself through more discomfort? Just tell me cause I'm abouts to fall asleep, munchkin ~S

-San, do you not honestly know how much that hurts me, how much you hurt me? I just don't understand what I've done to you, to make you so monstrous to me. I'm coming over, I-I wanted ~R

The texts stop there, Rachel never finished her sentence and Santana never replied back. Maybe she fell asleep before reading the last one, or maybe she felt guilty and didn't know what to say. So here we are now, waiting for sleeping beauty to awaken, or maybe Frankenstein's monster is a better fit, because surely she isn't going to wake up as if she were in a fairytale? No, more like something out of a horror movie. I'm assuming anyway.

Maybe Rachel should be away from the bed when that happens, for her own safety.

"I don't know if she got the last text before she fell back asleep, but she probably laughed if she did read it. Erase it, all of-"

"No. Give me the phone, Q." Santana speaks up, her voice groggy from sleep, but no less edgy and hard. She's nothing short of irritated as she holds out her good hand for her cell, eyes daring me to do what Berry wanted. I go to hand it over, but she snatches it from my grasp angrily instead, and then after gazing at Rachel, who is looking as if she is about to bolt, reads the messages.

"Santana, I, it was stupid, really, I shouldn't have wrote it, because now you're going to laugh in my face and or punch me with the strength of your one good arm-"

"Berry shut up."

Rachel’s mouth snaps closed and she shifts uncomfortably from the intensity of Santana’s gaze, before it becomes too much and she has to find something else to look at.

Her eyes find mine.

"Rachel, don't apologize for saying that to her, she doesn't deserve a sorry because you have nothing to be sorry for. It's okay to speak up about how you feel. We torture you, we're mean, hateful even, so don't ever tell either of us that _you_ are sorry."

I feel it was right for her to have asked what she did in her text to Santana. For so long she hasn't done much to stand up for herself, just taking whatever we throw at her without fighting back. She deserves answers and explanations, and I've already taken the first step toward redemption - though, I may have screwed it up - now it's Santana's turn, all she needs to do is apologize. I'm not sure how much luck Berry will have, though, when I haven't even gotten so much as a simple sorry from Santana.

"Why are you even here? What is so urgent that you had to come see me instead of burning my cell phone up with your incessant rambling?" Yeah, figures that San would out right ignore what Rachel and myself said, in opt for getting right to the point. Rachel's face falls, pain written all over it, much like when I found her in the choir room earlier this morning.

She wasn't expecting Santana to respond to what was in her text, but she's hurt anyway.

It actually pisses me off, the way Santana is acting.

"You may not realize or even believe it Santana, but everyone in glee cares about you in their own way. You should have seen them when Mr. Schue informed us that you had been hurt and was in the hospital. Noah especially, because he wanted so badly to go see you, to check for himself that you were _alive._ He's worried about you. All of us are. I was hoping that I could talk you into one or two of them coming over, at least let Noah. It isn't good to keep things so big from your friends, Santana. How hurt do you think they would be if you waited until someone else told them what really happened to you, instead of the news coming from yourself instead?" Rachel eventually opens up; her eyes boring into Santana, as she goes into a spiel about our group.

Her first text promised this wasn't about glee, yet it kinda technically is. So far, though, it isn't about singing or projects. Santana is silent, her expression contemplative, and then it's menacing as her eyes pierce a scorching, withering glare at Rachel.

"First of all, you said this wasn't about glee, you even promised that it wasn't. Second of all, since when did any of them give a shit about me? They hate me, hell, they _fear_ me. They’re afraid of the big bad ex-cheerio who still torments all of the underlings. So really, they have no reason to care, _you_ have no fucking reason to care, Rachel. Yet, you somehow do. You got your daddy to release me from the hospital early and to be my physical therapist. Who does that? Who honestly does that for their bully?"

When Rachel falls short of a response, sitting there with her mouth opening and closing, Santana chuckles darkly and shakes her head. "Just _go_ , you've done enough; I don't need your damn help."

Rachel for once doesn't look like she's about to burst into tears, she has composed herself and lets Santana's words roll over her as if they don't tatter her already fragile heart. She really is an amazing actress when she needs to be. She stays prone on the bed, not moving a muscle or her mouth to reply back, she just penetrates Santana with her huge expressive eyes, flickering over San's face as if searching for something.

I'm not sure if she finds it.

"I do, I do care. And yes, I'll admit that I'm afraid of you. You scare me, Santana, sometimes so much that I think one day I am going to do or say something so wrong that you will finally lose your nerve and make good on your threats about punching me in the face. But there are times when I see a different side of you, however few and far between they are, that makes me believe you would never physically hurt me. There is something about you, Santana, that I see and it just causes me to want to help you. I don't know exactly why I'm putting myself through this, knowing you hate me so much and want nothing to do with me." She pauses in her speech, taking a deep breath, filling her lungs with the oxygen she requires to continue. Her eyes catch mine; they are misty and hold nothing but honesty and truth.

"I do know that you don't want anyone's help. You and Quinn are so damn stubborn, both thinking that needing someone is weak; when in reality it's not. We’re all human and have human emotions whether we acknowledge them or not. I want to help you; I want to be here for you in your time of need. You do need someone there for you through this, and maybe that person shouldn't be me, but it's going to be. Of course, you have Quinn as well; we will get you through this, Santana. If you would just let us in, we aren't here to laugh or judge or pity you. That is not what friends do, real friends care for one another unconditionally. Not that I am your friend, I know you would never consider me as one, but I'm here regardless. It's just the type of person I am." Rachel finishes up, holding my now teary eyes for the first half, and then looking back at Santana for the rest as she pours her too forgiving heart out.

She may really be the craziest girl I've ever met. We stomp on her, over her, not caring what happens or how she feels, and she just comes back. I honestly think there is more to how she feels than just being a good, caring person. I'm not sure enough to say it out loud, but Rachel Berry, resident diva, loser, and supposed tranny may have a crush on one Santana Lopez. I'm not sure what to do with the revelation, or how to even feel about it. This one is going to have to simmer until I'm a hundred percent sure it's true.

I could be wrong, Rachel may really be _that_ loving and forgiving of a person, but she just seems so...so affected and taken with her. I mean, look at the way she is staring at Santana, she's practically spellbound. Why haven't I noticed this before?

Oh, yes, it's because I hardly ever observe Rachel.

I'm always too busy staring at Sa-other...people.

"Ber-Rachel, I don't even know what to do with that. I don't understand you at all. I'm not friend material, I mean, look at what's happened with me and Q. You and me, we’ll never be friends, Rachel. There’s no point in caring for the devil, he'll just tear you down and destroy you until you’re begging, pleading for him to stop. He knows no other way; it's engrained inside of him, always there to be unleashed on little naive damsels. I don't need you and I don't need Quinn. I _don't._ What I do need is for you to leave, both of you."

Santana’s reaction rips through me like a dagger to the heart.

She is pushing everyone away.

She is still pushing _me_ away and I'm not the one giving her any heartfelt speeches yet. She won't let anyone even try to be there for her. I may not understand Rachel, but I think I understand Santana even less. What the hell happened for her to be this way? Why is she the one so damaged and set on destroying everyone that loves and cares about her?

Rachel looks absolutely crestfallen; her actress skills aren't strong enough for the sheer emotional pain Santana can cause a person. I'm sick and tired of this version of my best friend, there has to be something I can do to get her to open up and let me in, because she is seriously infuriating the hell out of me.

I walk over to a silently crying Rachel and take hold of her hand, lifting her off the bed and into my arms. She is trying so hard, putting herself out there knowing it could all be in vain. It actually makes me feel ill that Santana was so harsh to her. How much rejection can one person take before they bury themselves away from any sort of human contact?

Santana refuses her friendship; she refuses any kind of help, from her, from me...

Enough is enough, damn it.

"Go downstairs and wait for me, okay?" I whisper in Rachel's ear, earning a slight nod.

She doesn’t move to comply.

Rachel’s head is on my shoulder and her hands are squeezing my sides like she’s in desperate need to cling onto something that doesn't hate her.

"Rachel, it's all right, I'll be down in a minute." I try again, speaking softly and pushing her gently away from me. Her eyes are already red from crying, and I'm pretty sure I look just as bad if not worse. She goes to glance at Santana again, but I intercept her view and turn her head to meet my eyes.

"Don't torture yourself anymore." Closing her eyes, she nods again, and then nudges past me to leave the room.

She doesn't look back.

Forcing myself not to look at the irate girl either, I stalk around my room for a duffel bag and clothes. The tension is so thick in here it's suffocating. I can't stay here, not tonight; besides, she doesn't want me here anyway. I can hear the rustling of my covers, which makes me glance over from my dresser.

Fidgeting, she stares, wide eyed, from me to the bag sitting atop my desk.

"What are you doin’, Quinn?"

I turn back to grabbing a set of clothes, not able to look her in the eye as I tell her I'm leaving for the night. "You want me gone so badly, so I'm leaving, with Rachel. I'd tell you to call me if you needed anything, but there's no point is there? Don't worry, though, I'll be back tomorrow after school to annoy you with my presence."

"Q-"

"No, Santana. This is what you wanted, right? I'm just giving you what you want. You'll have my room all to yourself without me or our-the one girl so caring and forgiving that you just broke. You always seem to get what you want one way or another, it's usually just a matter of time." I interrupt her as I stuff some clothes into my bag angrily, then without giving her time to reply, I storm out the room, not looking back.

The last thing I hear while making my way down is a soft _our?_ and a loud thud against the wall. I choose to ignore both, but blush at the caught slip up. I have no idea where that even came from, yet, maybe it’s the sudden closeness I feel toward Rachel and the want to keep and share it. It’s ridiculous, really, especially when said closeness wouldn’t be welcomed by Santana. The only friend she has that with is Brittany. Is it so wrong that I want it, too? That maybe I need it? All my life, aside from Brittany and occasionally Santana, I have been surrounded by fake bitches, shallow girls who will follow you around at school like a lost puppy and talk about you behind your back the rest of the time.

Rachel is _real_.

Rachel and my mother are standing at the front door; the former is spaced out and seems un-responsive as mom, with worry, tries talking to her. I sigh and stride over in between them, Mom setting her alarmed eyes on me and then falling on my duffel bag.

"Santana is being difficult, so if you don't mind, I'll be staying with Rachel tonight. We need space." I tell my mother rather than ask. I'm going with or without permission.

It's a rude approach, but right now my nerves are stretched to the max and I don't really care how I come off.

Thankfully, Mom appears to understand and she nods her consent. "Wait, you a-and Rachel need space? With each other?" Her eyebrows scrunch in confusion as she darts her gaze back and forth.

I blush again with an eye roll. "No, I mean, yes, but space from Santana. She's being a grade A bitch towards us and wanted us to leave. So, I'm taking it literal and going home with Rachel for the night."

"Oh. Well, all right, you girls have fun then. I'm very sorry for Santana's behavior, Rachel, there's no sense in her acting so meanly to either of you. I'll be talking to her parents, okay? And, Quinnie, call me when you get there so I will know that you both are safe. Make sure to eat something, as well." Mom relaxes at the correction, but is scowling at the news of Santana being mean to us. She gives me a hug goodbye, Rachel a squeeze to her shoulder, and then walks off toward Santana's parents.

Santana isn't going to be any happier about being scolded on her bad behavior. She's going to be pissed at me for tattling on her and then will end up taking it out on me and possibly Rachel. _Shit._ When I turn to face the tiny brunette, she is staring at me in confusion. "You want to come over to my house and stay the night?"

"Um, yeah, if that's okay with you?" I answer sheepishly, realizing I didn't even ask.

My mind really isn't working right.

"Of course, I'll text Daddy to let him know we are having company." Smiling shyly, her eyes light up. It gives me hope that even though Santana wants absolutely nothing to do with her, Rachel still wants to be _my_ friend.

We drive separately, me following her to their home. I think of Santana on the way there. I am mad and upset, _hurt_ , but I still want my best friend back, so I’m going to ask Rachel to help me with my song. I am still going to sing it to her; it'll just have to be in my room.

Rachel pulls into her driveway and I park on the curb, and then we both get out and I follow her inside the house with my duffel bag. She leads me upstairs, where I've never been before. At her party, we had stayed down in the basement, so it's nice to venture into new territory. Entering her bedroom, I instantly notice the yellow-gold painted walls; the color of a star. There are playbills on her walls along with pictures of Barbara Streisand and Liza Minnelli and ones of family. Most of them are her fathers' photos and a few of the glee kids.

There are two that stand out the most, and one of them is me from her party. It’s after everyone got drunk, I look carefree and like I was having a blast. My eyes are closed and my head tilted down, I'm grinning at something, more than likely a drunken, silly thought.

The other is of Santana; she is on stage in the auditorium, electric guitar in hand while standing with her foot propped up on the amp, her face, too, is carefree. Though it's a little wilder looking than mine, she is no less beautiful in the captured moment. Rachel, I'm assuming, caught her without being noticed. When I peer back at Rachel, she is studying me with a flushed face from her seated position on the bed.

That simmer? It's slowly but surely coming to a boil.

"I have a proposition for you." Her eyes widen comically at my words; I wince and join her in blushing.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. I need your help with a song, for the glee assignment. You up for it?" Quickly correcting myself, I ask for her help with a hopeful grin.

 Letting out a breath, she relaxes, and then a smile breaks out.

"I accept your proposition. Shall we gather food for energy and get to it?" Is she flirting?

That sounded like a flirt or an innuendo.

This girl is something else, a good something else, though.

She's surprising in a good way.

I chuckle and shake my head; I think I may end up liking being Rachel Berry's friend.


	8. Chapter 8

I toss and turn restlessly in Rachel's bed, it is after 3am and I haven't been able to sleep at all since we had lain down at 11:30. Her queen-sized bed is super comfortable, as is the extra firm pillow that was on my side of the bed, looking sadly unused, but despite that and how much surprising fun I've had tonight with Rachel, thoughts of Santana are plaguing my overactive mind. Once I shyly admitted to what song I planned on singing to Santana tomorrow, Rachel became even more eager to help. She actually already had it on her [iPod](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6967123/8/Discovering-why) touch, along with numerous other songs by the same artist.

I was surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so.

She had me sing it several times, each one turning out better than the previous with her honest, yet kind criticism. By the time I finally got it right, we both had teared up at the real emotion coming out; it was as if Santana were really in the room and I was singing it with everything I had to convey how I felt. After I was finished and after we wiped our shed tears, I caught Rachel staring off into space with an unreadable expression.

She turned her face to look at me and the unreadable expression was no longer there, it was replaced with an ass load of mixed emotions right after the other. It started with shock, sadness, dejection and defeat. I stood there confused and worried that I somehow did something wrong in the span of a few minute song, and I was about to ask, but she looked away from me and took a deep breath before returning her gaze with a new set of less painful, yet no less intense emotions. Empathy, understanding, resolution, resolve.

I know, how can I read and differentiate between so many? Let's just say I had plenty of time getting to know myself and other people last summer with two of my favorite hobbies, photography and art. I took [classes](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6967123/8/Discovering-why) and learned things, like how to read even the most difficult expressions and capture them with film or sketched drawings on paper.

Whoever first said 'a picture is worth a thousand words' was brilliantly wise.

Rachel had smiled then, and even though it wasn't one of the brightest ones ever to grace her pretty, very unmanly face, it wasn't fake either. I smiled back and tentatively wrapped the little diva in my arms for a warm and friendly hug. I needed it and she appeared to need it even more than me. I didn't ask what was going through her head, because whatever happened in those silent, tense moments seemed too personal for her former enemy and not yet friend to ask. She sighed and hugged back with minimal hesitation.

 I gave myself a pat on the back for doing something right.

The rest of the night went by in a relaxed atmosphere; we ate, changed for bed, and then settled back in her room with a movie and popcorn, unbuttered for her of course. When it hit 11:30, Rachel was out like a light, and now here I am wide-awake and again thinking of Santana. I regret leaving her like that; letting my anger and frustration over her elusiveness and denial get the better of me was wrong.

It showed her that I was weak, that she's pushing me away just like she wanted, which of course, isn't the case, the me being pushed away, but she doesn't know that. No matter how much she tries pushing or how many times she denies needing me, I can't give into her; this is the one time Santana Lopez won't get her way.

With a quick glance at Rachel, - who is still passed out and sleeping like a baby - and to her funky ass looking alarm clock that has wheels, I slide out of bed carefully and grab my cell phone, and then sneak off to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. I need to know that Santana is okay, that me leaving didn't damage her in an irreparable way, so I press the number two speed dial and wait. It goes straight to voice mail and I frown, deflating. When it beeps, though, I don't hesitate to leave her a message.

"Santana, I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like that. You’re hurting and not just physically, so it's only natural to try and push the people who care about you away. It won't work, you know. I'm going to be there for you, baby, no matter what. You can't push me away, I won't let you." I pause to take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly to calm my shaky nerves, before starting again. "I know it's late, but, God, Santana, I can't stop thinking about you. I'm sorry, so, so, fucking sorry for everything I have ever done to you, for everything that is happening to you now. I hate it, all of it; it's tearing me up inside and breaking my heart to see you in so much damn pain. I want to make it better, to take it away, I want to take care of you, but you won't let me. San, please, please let me in, please don't hate me, I can't lose you. I can't. I _won't_. I miss you, you stubborn bitch."

I'm breaking down, sobbing into the phone as the voice mail beeps again; signaling its end. Not that it matters, I don't think I could have said anything else coherent anyway, but I just poured my heart out to her and said what I had to. That should be enough. If it isn't, then I'll do it again, to her face, I plan to regardless. She needs to hear and see the truth behind my words so that she will believe them, and so that she will believe in me, trust in me. I feel that if she doesn't, if she hears every word spoken with conviction and honesty, and then still denies my help, denies _me,_ that it will break me.

Santana Lopez has the power to break thee one and only Quinn Fabray.

I'm not sure when she started having that much power over me or when I even started feeling that way, that strongly and deeply. All I know is that when I held her unconscious, bloody body, something in me changed, shifted and morphed into something even stronger. And it all has to do with Santana, whatever is going on, whatever it is that I'm feeling so strongly has everything to do with my best friend and it's driving me absolutely crazy.

"Quinn?" I gasp and swivel my head around, startled as Rachel calls my name from right behind me. Her eyes widen at my appearance, and then she is covering the distance between us quickly, kneeling on her knees in front of me.

"Quinn, I heard you crying, so I knocked on the door and called out, but you weren't answering either one. What happened?" One of her hands comes to a rest on my knee as her concerned eyes flitter over my face. They travel lower, I'm assuming to inspect me for injury, and land on my hands, and then her fingers are gently prying the phone from my white-knuckled grasp. I release the tight hold over it and she grabs and sets it aside.

"So? Nosy much, treasure trail?" I snap at her harshly, reverting to my infamous HBIC mode in a split second, but as soon as the words have left my mouth, I regret them.

She recoils back and a flash of pain and disappointment flashes across her face, before it goes blank. I grimace, cursing myself in my head for lashing out at her, when she has been nothing but kind and forgiving to me.

"I’m so sorry, Rachel, I didn't mean it. You didn't deserve that. You don't deserve any of the harsh insults or slushies, the racist slurs, nor the pornographic pictures I drew in the bathroom-"

She raises a hand up, stopping me mid sentence, ignoring and changing the topic back to why I'm slumped on her bathroom floor. "Is, is it Santana? Did something h-happen-"

"No! No." I exclaim loudly, shaking my head violently.

Rachel flinches but sighs in relief and remains calm.

"Then what's wrong? Talk to me." She whispers pleadingly, hand sliding over mine and squeezing to encourage me into talking.

I'm relaxing somewhat and though a few silent tears are escaping, I am no longer bawling my eyeballs out.

"I _miss_ her. All I wanted to do tonight was crawl in my bed and hold her, Rachel."

"I called, but only got her voice mail; I left a message and ended up blubbering half way through. She was my best friend. She, Britt, and I used to be so close before high school and I miss that, I miss the real Santana so much. Hell, I missed me, too, I am slowly finding myself again, but San, she's so lost and won't let me help bring her back. I want to be the one who heals her; I need for her to talk to me. The least she could do is try to be civil, I mean, it can't be that hard. I'm doing it and I actually like treating her like a best friend should, but she keeps pushing and pushing and she is just so, so.. _Mean._ I can't take it, Rachel! Does she really hate me that much?"

So much for me not crying anymore; the flood gates have reopened and I'm burying my head in Rachel's neck. She’s tense for a few seconds, but relaxes, tugs me fully into her arms, and then starts rubbing soothing circles over my back.

"Shh, it's okay, I've got you. Everything will work out, I promise. Santana will come around; she can't resist you for long. You're going to sing her that song and she's going to be falling at your feet with apologies and begging for you to forgive her."

I let out a laugh at that, because trying to picture Santana begging is hilarious, and her begging at my feet? Words can't even convey how funny and alien that concept is. Rachel giggles with me, apparently just re-thinking what she said and realizing how that would never ever happen in a million years. After our laughter dies down, I let her help me up; she pulls me in for a real hug and I hug back. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Seriously, Quinn, I'm here for you, whenever you need someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, I'm here. Please don't ever be afraid to talk to me, I know one of my bad traits is speaking too much, but, listening is one of my good ones. And now that we are embarking on a new friendship, I feel opening up and being honest with one another will build the trust we need to strengthen that friendship. I know you didn't mean what you said to me earlier, you're under too much stress with everything going on, and since you have been Quinn Fabray all of high school, It's not going to be easy just being Quinn. I understand that and I believe you are trying. Now, come on, let's get back in bed, school awaits us bright and early and you're going to need some sleep for what's ahead tomorrow." Damn, Rachel is too good for me, how can she forgive someone so easily who tortured her every single day? I don't know, but I probably shouldn't question it.

If I'm trying for Santana, I am going to try my damnedest for Rachel, too, the last thing I need is another broken girl on my hands.

Once in bed, she takes bold initiative, planting herself against my back and wrapping an arm around my waist, holding onto me snuggly. I'm not used to being held like this or being the 'little spoon' but I could get used to it. I feel safe and cared for.

I don't know why I waited so long to accept Rachel Berry's friendship, because so far, she is nothing like I thought she would be in closed quarters. My eyes close in temporary contentment, tomorrow is a new day that I just know is going to bring nothing but hardships my way, I can feel it. Rachel is right; I need sleep for whatever lies ahead.

xXx

The next day drags on forever. I am so focused on going home and seeing Santana, that no work gets done whatsoever. The day is slow and depressing and not just for me, the glee kids seem to be subdued, _sad_ , every one of them moping around all quiet. They are worried about Santana, I feel bad for not telling them what happened. Even after their attempted questioning today, I kept quiet. However, enough is enough, Santana has a whole group of friends, well, maybe not 'friends' but, family?

Yeah, we're all a makeshift family even though we all dislike each other in some way, and her family cares about her, they're worried and confused and it's not right to keep them in the dark for so long. I'm talking to her tonight. After I sing her the song, she needs to at least let a few of them come over.

We're in glee now, Mr. Schue wanted some of us to go ahead and sing our songs to make up from yesterday, and Rachel of course volunteered to go first, but everyone is so depressed and down that they can't even summon enough energy to roll their eyes at her.

She stands in the middle of the room with sheet music in hand and gazes over all of us with a small encouraging smile, then her eyes land on me for a few seconds before she opens her mouth to speak."I know all of us are worried about Santana and it's hard to muster up the will to sing our songs, but we need to try and be strong for her."

"Someone will soon let us know how she is and when we can go visit her. Now, as you all know, I picked Brittany out of the hat, and we spent the weekend together just like we were supposed to and had a really wonderful time. This may be surprising to you, but I didn't have a song prepared to sing, because I wanted to get to know Brittany the best I could in that short amount of time before choosing. I picked a song that wasn't in my usual playlist, one that I think is fun and light and applies to not just Brittany, but some of our other glee kids in the room as well, even me. Listen to the lyrics and let them speak to you."

Her eyes roam over everyone again, and then they lock on mine for several moments, making me feel as if she what she said about the song was mainly pointed at me. I give her one of my famous raised eyebrows when her fixed stare lasts a little too long and starts to make me a little uncomfortable. She blinks out of whatever space she was just in and clears her throat, and then strides over to the ever-present band, handing her paper over to them. They nod at her and she smiles in return, and then she walks back towards us as the instruments pick up and start blending together in a light, easygoing melody. I don't recognize it right off, but already, I know that I'll like it.

_Three little birds, sat on my window._   
_And they told me I don't need to worry._   
_Summer came like cinnamon_   
_So sweet,_   
_Little girls double-dutch on the concrete._

When she begins singing her voice is soft and airy, and she's wearing a ghost of a smile while getting into the song. Her eyes dance over the somber group, never settling on one person for too long.

_Maybe sometimes, we've got it wrong, but it's alright_   
_The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same_   
_Oh, don't you hesitate._

The barely there smile grows into one that lights up the room, and when she points the bright beam in Brittany's direction, it expands so much that I'm afraid it will split her face in two. The singing girl glides over to Britt effortlessly and pulls the tall cheerleader up.

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_   
_You go ahead, let your hair down_   
_Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,_   
_Just go ahead, let your hair down._

_You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow._

Rachel twirls around Brittany, her hand trailing over the blonde's stomach, over her shoulder and then up her back to the long hair in a ponytail. She tugs until the soft locks are free and flowing, and then runs her hand through Britt's hair, ruffling it lovingly as she sings so carefree and jubilantly.

_Blue as the sky, sunburnt and lonely,_   
_Sipping tea in the bar by the roadside,_   
_(just relax, just relax)_   
_Don't you let those other boys fool you,_   
_Got to love that afro hair do._

_Maybe sometimes, we feel afraid, but it's alright_   
_The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change._   
_Don't you think it's strange?_

I watch as she listens to her own advice; letting the lyrics wash over her, speak to her. She was right, this wasn't just about Brittany, she's singing it for herself and as her eyes lock with mine, I know she is singing it for me, too. Her and Brittany dance closely to each other as the other glee kids watch on in interest. I wish they would get up and join them, but I can't even force myself to, so I can't blame them for not finding the motivation.

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_   
_You go ahead, let your hair down_   
_Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,_   
_Just go ahead, let your hair down._

You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.

I want to be somewhere else right now and I know where that somewhere is, and I'm not sure how much longer I can sit here and wait for glee to end. I'm proud of Rachel for singing outside the box and it's one of her best performances because she's being all natural and letting go. For once, her song choice isn't about her and her road to Broadway, it's about freeing yourself and not caring what other people think. It's about friendship.

_'Twas more than I could take, pity for pity's sake_   
_Some nights kept me awake, I thought that I was stronger_   
_When you gonna realise, that you don't even have to try any longer?_   
_Do what you want to._

When I look back at them, Rachel is now in front of me, her intense brown eyes staring me down and her hand held out for me to take. I flicker over it and back up to her eyes; she smiles reassuringly and grasps the limp hand in my lap gently as she continues singing. I let her pull me up. She leads me over to Brittany, who embraces me in a bear hug and twirls me around gleefully. I laugh, squealing out at the abrupt gravity change, and my arms tighten their hold around her so she doesn't drop me on my ass.

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_   
_You go ahead, let your hair down_   
_Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,_   
_Just go ahead, let your hair down._

By the time she sets me down, I find myself at the choir room doorway, haven been danced, twirled, and carried over here.

I turn my head to look at her, confused, but she is already back by Rachel, who is observing me as she repeats the chorus. She gives me a nod, telling me to get out of here, to go to Santana. I mouth a thank you, glance at the curious, watchful gazes of the kids who have become like family, and then high tail it out of there with Rachel's engaging voice and the song lyrics echoing through my head.

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_   
_You go ahead, let your hair down_   
_Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,_   
_Just go ahead, let your hair down._

_Oh, you're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow_

Out in the school parking lot, I dart to my car and throw my things in the passenger seat, and then yank out my cell phone to call Santana. I hit speed dial and hold it up to my ear anxiously, waiting with bated breath for her to answer. She doesn't. It goes to voice mail, but this time I hang up and open a new message to send.

_-I'm on my way home, Santana. When I get there, I'm going to come up to my room and apologize for leaving you. Let me. ~ Q_

The drive home is nerve-wracking, Santana hasn't called or texted, and knowing that she is ignoring me, hurts. Something tells me that today was the calm before the storm, nothing bad has happened yet, so it must have been waiting until I got home to her. I'm afraid to go inside, afraid to face the bitch who hates me, who says she doesn't need me, instead of my best friend who spent everyday with me and B, who loved me, who needed me and wasn't afraid to admit it. But, I can't not go in, that would be giving up and I can't do that, so I will myself out the car and slowly, hesitantly, make my way inside the house.

The smell of food wafts immediately to my nose and smells absolutely delicious; it puts a small smile on my face. Mom meets me halfway, a bigger smile on hers; she is wearing an apron and is covered in flour.

"Hey, sweetie, how was your day?"

Not caring if any gets on me, I wrap my arms around her and bury my head in her neck, she smells of spices. "It was okay, but I missed her. It’s not the same without Santana there, you know?"

She chuckles, hugging me back just as tightly, and I'm sure I'll have powdered prints on my shirt, but it’s worth it to be able to hug her like this. "I know. I'm pretty sure she missed you, too, even if she doesn't act like it."

I pull back then, giving her a look between incredulous and hopeful.

She grins and smudges flour on my nose.

"You are her best friend; a few years of misdirected hostility won't change that. Her father gave her a stern talkin' to last night about being so cruel to those who are trying to care for her, but he said she didn't say much, just sat there staring off into space with tears in her eyes. You two really need to get over whatever is going on between you, we're all living together now and more importantly, Santana is staying in _your_ room. Talk to her, yell at her, anything to get through. Neither one of you may come out until you either wave a white flag and call a truce, or one of you has killed the other."

I glare at the last statement, not liking the words kill and Santana in the same paragraph, not after what happened to her. She sighs, realizing her mistake, and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, before walking back into the kitchen with a soft "I love you."

I sigh, too. It’s time to head up to the devil's den. Santana may think of herself as the devil, but really, she isn't. Even if she were, she would be _my_ devil, and I would be her angel to balance us out. I'm at the foot of the stairs, peering up them with dread and a spark of hope, hope that she won't scream at me, hope that she will forgive me for walking out last night and hope that she will finally let me in. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and trudge up the steps to my possible doom. My bedroom door is shut.

I let the thought of her lying in my bed and marking my covers and pillow with her scent, flitter through my mind. It causes my heart to flutter and my eyes to close, but I shake the feeling away and set my hand on the doorknob, then it's turning and now the door is open and Santana's puffy eyes are locked on mine from her spot on the bed.

She looks away first, finding an interesting spot on the wall and stares at it intensely; I walk further in and shut the door behind me. "Hi."

She says nothing, only a small uncommitted grunt coming out, which makes me frown and my eyes droop sadly to the floor. I knew me being here wouldn't result to her suddenly brightening up like a light beam, but she could at least say something, anything is better than being practically ignored. I push through, though, for her, for us, and to save our disintegrating friendship. My feet carry me to her side of the bed, and I step into her eyesight, but she doesn't look at me, her eyes flickering to a spot behind me instead.

I stay silent for a few moments, giving her time to adjust to my presence and giving myself time to observe her while she stares off at nothing. Her face is slightly red and swollen around her eyes and cheeks from crying, and no doubt from rubbing the tears away roughly. I want to reach out and caress her rosy cheeks so I can feel how warm they are under my fingertips, yet I refrain, afraid that if I even attempt to touch her in anyway, she will go berserk and lash out. The silence gets to be too much and I end up pleading with my own eyes for her to look at me.

She lets out an irritated huff and turns hard, unrelenting eyes to my face, scorching it with the sharp intensity of her angry stare. I flinch, hurt that she is giving me that kind of look, but knowing I probably deserve it for how I left last night.

* * *

 

Santana

My gaze finally landing on Quinn, I glare at her for just standing there all-quiet and shit watching me stare at the wall, at anything but her. When she flinches away from the harshness of it, though, instant regret washes over me, yet I don't relent.

I'm hurt and my guard isn't ready to crash down.

"Why the hells are you just standing there staring at me? It's creeping me the fuck out. Shouldn't you be off in Narnia playing with the hobbit or somethin'?"

"San, no, didn't you get my calls and text? Or did you really ignore them, ignore me?" God, I love when she calls me that, my name sounds so, so good coming from her lips.

Whoa, what? She called and texted me? When?

I haven't heard my-oh, shit, my phone. I threw the damn thing at the wall last night and didn't ever check to see if I broke it or not. Now I'm curious, what did she say to me? Was it her apologizing for leaving me high and dry or was leaving not enough and she bitched me out? Now I really do feel bad, she thinks I ignored her, which I may would have if I knew she called, but she doesn't need to know that.

Well, shit, maybe she does since I'm supposed to be keeping up the facade of not giving two shits and not needing her for anything. If only she knew how much I really do need her, but I can't let her know, I would end up saying way too much and she'd end up freakin' out and running. But, if I keep pushing her away, will that make her run? Will she give up on me? Fuck, I can't let that shit happen either; her running is what I don't want.

What the hell am I supposed to do? I need her. I need her so fuckin' bad it _hurts._ This pushing her away to save her feelings and to spare mine from rejection isn't working, I'm hurting her, hurting myself. I can see it. I hate it.

_Okay, Lopez, suck it up or you're going to lose one of the most important people in the world to you. You are going to lose her and she will stop caring, stop trying, she will then have nothing to distract her from that damn love triangle her, Berry and Finn gots goin' on._

_Fuck that._

_I'm not letting her retreat back to him, he isn't good for her. No one is._

_Not even me._

"Santana, I left you a damn voice mail! I couldn't take what I did so I called to make it right; I apologized and practically poured my heart out to you. Do you even care, or do you really hate me that much?" It's my turn to flinch, and flinch I do, the frustration and hurt in her voice is like a slap to the face and I don't even try to hide that her words affected me.

Yet, I find myself speechless, not able to reply.

Being near her always leaves me mind boggled, especially when she says things like that.

What does she mean that she poured her heart out?

Movement catches my eye and I peer up at her, not haven even realized I had looked away again; she's stalking out the room before I can beg her to stay. To not leave me again. My hands itch to throw something at the wall, something like my cell phone that is already laying on the floor in a most likely broken mess. I look around the room, fingers twitching with the need. I am so fuckin' frustrated with myself, with her, with _everything._

I grasp the closest thing to me on the nightstand, clutch it tightly until my knuckles are white, and then hurl it as hard as I can. It shatters loudly against the wall and falls to the floor with a thud. My breathing is heavy, ragged, chest rising up and down in quick succession. Booming footsteps pound up the stairs and run this way until the person attached appears frantically in the doorway, and Quinn's searching eyes jump around the room, first landing on me and then everywhere else, looking for the cause of the loud crash.

She spots it, and after glancing back at me with an unreadable expression, she moves over to the thrown object, kneeling down. She spends a few seconds bent over it, before picking it up and standing. When she turns around to face me, tears silently sliding down her cheeks, I instantly know I’ve hurt her. _Again._

"H-How could you? What possessed you to, I-I don't. Why do you hate me?" She stutters over her words, each one breaking my devil heart and making me hate myself more than ever. She holds out the item for me to see, looking lost and so fucking _broken._

I finally focus on what I carelessly threw at the wall, and when it hits me what the shattered object is, I want to scream. She is holding onto a framed photo, a picture of her and me on our first day on the cheerios. We're posing in one of our own made up cheer poses, our faces laughing and staring at each other. I don't even remember who we got to take the picture, all that was on my mind was Quinn and how happy she looked.

How damn beautiful she was with the sunlight shining down on her.

My smile wasn't posed either, it wasn't fake for the camera; it was real, so very real. My heart shatters like the glass in the frame. I threw the picture without thought of what it was, and now it has to be one of the worst regrets of my life. I look at her, pained, but she shakes her head and the photo drops slowly back to the ground, revealing a bloody palm where she had a death grip on the broken frame.

My jaws clench in response, seeing her hurt, even if it's just superficial cuts, tears me up inside.

She got hurt because of me, it's my fault, everything is my fault and I need to fix it.

"Quinn, I-"

" _No._ No, I have had enough! I get that we have grown apart and both are to blame for the past couple years. I get that you are hurt and in a hell of a lot of pain and it's hard for you to ask for help. But you are taking it too damn far; do you not know how much you're hurting me? We have been best friends for years, so you do not get to push me away, Santana! I don't know what the hell I did to make you hate me so damn much, but you won't even let me try to fix it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for leaving you last night, I shouldn't have; it was a stupid move. You are just making this so hard. I feel helpless, and I feel like I'm losing you!" Cut off harshly, she yells at me in exasperation, in desperation, and in so much bared pain that it's making me ill.

I never wanted this, I've pushed too much already; the picture was the last straw before the damn broke. She is my best friend and I can't lose her, especially not by my own hands. I have to do something, say something to fix it, to fix us.

I wish I could get up and go to her, but several things are stopping me. One? I'm heavily medicated and the lingering effects from the last dose have made me dizzy. I tried getting up by myself earlier, though that didn't work out so well; I walked right into the nightstand trying to keep my balance and ended up jarring my shoulder. Luckily, that was when Berry's daddy came over to check my vitals and t-the other thing. He helped tuck me back in and gave me an extra dose of pain meds. And, two? I'm sorely afraid of her right now, afraid she will reject my attempts at an explanation, afraid she will push _me_ away.

A hard slam has me looking up yet again; Quinn is in front of her Karaoke machine, fiddling with it roughly. She yanks the mic out of its holder, mashes a button, and then she swivels around to face me. Music starts to play, a familiar melody to a very familiar song, guitars strumming in the background as the beginning starts off.

 _You and me_ _  
 _We used to be together_  
 _Everyday together always_  
 _I really feel_  
 _That I'm losing my best friend_  
 _I can't believe_  
 _This could be the end_  
 _It looks as though you're letting go_  
 _And if it's real_  
 _Well I don't want to know__  
  
Oh hell, seriously? How many times is she going to break my heart today? I have reduced her down to singing about losing me. She stands in the corner, closed off to the outside world, closed off to me as she sings with those gorgeous hazel eyes closed. She is tense, curled in on herself with an impenetrable wall guarding the monster trying to find a way in to rip her to shreds, a monster trying to tear her down until she is left raw and numb of emotions, the monster sitting on her bed just feet away.

_Don't speak_   
_I know just what you're saying_   
_So please stop explaining_   
_Don't tell me cause it hurts_   
_Don't speak_   
_I know what you're thinking_   
_I don't need your reasons_   
_Don't tell me cause it hurts_

She doesn't know. She doesn't know a fuckin' thing, not what I'm thinking, what my reasons are for pushing her away, for lashing out. She can't ever know; I would be hurting myself, because it would be torture confessing how she makes me feel just to be rejected.

She would leave me for real, for good.

I need her in my life even if it's just us rebuilding our demolished friendship.

_Our memories_   
_Well, they can be inviting_   
_But some are altogether_   
_Mighty frightening_   
_As we die, both you and I_   
_With my head in my hands_   
_I sit and cry_

She finally opens her eyes, they lock onto mine as she continues to sing her heart out, and her face is full of anguish. The emotion there is enough to rival one of Rachel's performances. Quinn is breaking in front of me and it's the most unbearable thing I've ever witnessed. So much in fact, that I'm abouts to hurl myself out her window to make the pain, the feelings, and the emotions _stop._ But, then she would still be hurting, and I can't make myself do anything else to continue hurting her. The memories, our memories, they are fading into ones filled with hate, rage, and loathing.

Ones that are truly frightening.

_Don't speak_   
_I know just what you're saying_   
_So please stop explaining_   
_Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)_   
_Don't speak_   
_I know what you're thinking_   
_I don't need your reasons_   
_Don't tell me cause it hurts_

_It's all ending_  
I gotta stop pretending who we are...  
You and me I can see us dying...are we?

We're both crying by now, though I can tell she's holding back and starting to struggle with singing; her voice strained and beginning to crackle. She ignores it and keeps going, pushing her vocals to the max to get out every single word. Her movements are hindered by a bout of weakness, her legs shaking with effort to keep herself upright. She is jelly and being drained of adrenalin. The lyrics ring so fucking true that it isn't anywhere near funny, we are dying and we both see it happening.

_Don't speak_   
_I know just what you're saying_   
_So please stop explaining_   
_Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)_   
_Don't speak_   
_I know what you're thinking_   
_I don't need your reasons_   
_Don't tell me cause it hurts_   
_Don't tell me cause it hurts!_   
_I know what you're saying_   
_So please stop explaining_

She's closer now, haven moved to the wall feet from the night stand to lean against, to keep from buckling. I've managed to move to the edge of the bed just in case she does end up falling. I don't care if I have to lunge, crawl, or even run, if she shows signs of collapsing I'mma be right there to catch her. She's singing in a barley there whisper, yet the raw emotion is still in her voice, still pouring out from every word, every movement.

Tears trail her face and show no hint of stopping anytime soon, her eyes are clenched closed and she's now plastered against the wall for full support.

_Don't speak,_   
_don't speak,_   
_don't speak,_   
_oh I know what you're thinking_   
_And I don't need your reasons_   
_I know you're good,_   
_I know you're good,_   
_I know you're real good_   
_Oh, la la la la la la La la la la la la_   
_Don't, Don't, uh-huh Hush, hush darlin'_   
_Hush, hush darlin' Hush, hush_   
_don't tell me tell me cause it hurts_   
_Hush, hush darlin' Hush, hush darlin'_   
_Hush, hush don't tell me tell me cause it hurts_

As the last words leave her lips breathlessly, I'm there, somehow finding the strength to stand in front of her. She needs me to be strong even if it physically hurts me. Quinn doesn't register my presence, her eyes stay glued shut and the microphone falls from her fingertips, landing on the floor with a resounding echo. She lets out a heartbreaking cry, the emotion that she was holding in finally releasing into uncontrollable sobs.

She starts sliding down the wall, no longer able to hold herself up. I follow, dropping to my knees and ignoring the immediate shooting pain reverberating throughout my shoulder, chest, and back. My own tears blur my eyes, making me swipe at them roughly so I can see her clearly, though it doesn't last long, because I'm crying just as hard as she is and the water works pour out relentlessly.

I brace my good hand on the wall behind her and, leaning in, I rest my forehead against hers, needing some form of contact with her. She recoils, the back of her head hitting the hard wall with a thunk, she hisses out and cries all the more harder.

My face crumbles, but I try again.

"Please, let me. Please."

I don't beg, ever, but Quinn, Quinn is different; she's the exception, my exception. I need for her to let me do this, to let me comfort her. This time when my head presses gently into hers, she stills, freezing for several seconds before her body starts shaking from the wracking sobs. Her hand tangles in my hair, gripping it in desperation and pulling me more into her. My head slides and bumps the side of hers, then rests there. Her face is buried in my hair now with her fingers tightening their grasp.

We sit like this, sharing tears until I feel a new presence behind me.

"Mija, let's get you two in bed, okay? You both will be so much more comfortable." Mami whispers softly, setting a gentle hand on my back.

 Rubbing it soothingly, she runs fingers through Quinn's hair with her free hand.

I don't fight it.

She’s right, the position we're in isn't helping me any; I'm aching now. I need another pill or maybe a kiss, yeah, a kiss from Q would put me out of my misery. Since that's not gonna happen, I'mma have to be drugged the fuck up. As long as Quinn stays and doesn't run, I can work through the pain as long as I need to.

Mom helps me up first, making sure I am steady on my feet before lifting a knocked out Quinn up and laying her on the bed. How long were we there?

I don't remember her falling asleep. Did I dose off, too?

"Come on, baby, lie back down. I'll go get you something for pain and a bite to eat." I'm led over to the other side and propped back up in my spot, this time though, I have Quinn beside me. It's comforting.

I nod at mom as she exits the room to cater to my needs, and then can't help but stare down at Quinn; she looks more at ease, at peace while she's sleeping. Dried tear tracks mar her otherwise flawless, pale skin, and I have the urge to lick up the perfect flesh and clean her of them. I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be appreciated, so I settle for finding her hand under the cover and taking hold of it, this is all I can do, it's all I have for the moment. Minutes later, mom comes back in with a tray of food and sets it down in my lap with a smile; I return the smile in thanks.

"Make sure to eat at least half of this, you need to keep your strength up. We'll let Quinn sleep however long she needs to and then if she's hungry later, there are leftovers in the refrigerator."

"Thanks, Mami." I whisper and reluctantly let go of Q's hand to eat.

Mom stays beside me, running her fingers through my hair like she was doing to Quinn not that long ago. It feels relaxing as I fill up my growling belly.

"You’re welcome, mija. Call down if either of you girls need anything, all right? I love you." She replies with a kiss to my head, and then playfully ruffles my hair before moving to leave.

"I love you, too." I let her know with a playful glare, she chuckles and shakes her head, then is out the room, closing the door behind her.

I finish eating with thoughts of nothing but the hazel eyed blond sleeping beside me. I don't know what's going to happen when she wakes up, if she'll run before giving me a chance to apologize, or if she will stay and let me try to hash out all these damn feelings flittering through my body. Well, not all of them, I'm still not telling her that every time I see or even hear her, all I want do is throw her down on whatever surface she happens to be on and kiss her breathless. Kiss her until she forgets everything around her.

Even her own damn name.

I'm not telling her that I want to take her out for reals, on an actual date to try my best to woo her the right way, and I'm sure as hell not letting her know that I am already head over heels in love with her. No, those feelings are staying under lock and key.

I will, however, do whatever it takes to make things right between us again; I'll tell her how fuckin' sorry I am until I turn blue in the face.

With a resigned sigh, I lift the now empty tray and toss it to the floor; luckily, there was only a sandwich and a banana on there, along with my pill and a glass of orange juice. The glass is sitting on the nightstand, empty, and the pain pill is floating around in my stomach, doing its job by dissolving into my bloodstream and taking the pain away. I settle back into the pillows the best I can and tentatively cover Q's hand with mine. I still need the contact, because later when she wakes up? I'm not so sure I'll be getting much of any.

Her hand is warm, _soft_ , and the thought brings her other hand to mind, I had forgotten that she cut it, so now she is lying here bloodied up and possibly hurting. I frown, hating it, yet, there isn't anything I can do. I'm exhausted and can no longer stay awake.

My eyes drift shut with thoughts of caring for my hurt girl when we wake back up, that is if she will let me. I would do anything, shot up and all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The songs used are 'Put your records on' by Corinne Bailey Rae And 'Don't speak' by No Doubt. I don't own either one.


	9. Chapter 9

I wake up chilled to the bone, I'm fuckin' freezing from lack of cover. Shivering, I peer around for the elusive blanket, and then finding it, I glare at the culprit. The damn thing somehow unwrapped itself from my body and instead found solace in burying Quinn's own body with it. She is nothing but a cotton covered lump in her bed, albeit an Egyptian cotton covered lump. The bitch stole our blankie; she's a damn cover hog!

How could she steal something from a wounded friend, I mean, shouldn't she be making sure that I'm tucked in with it instead of taking it away for her own selfish needs? Yeah, maybe if we like fourteen again she would, but now that everything is so tense and uncertain with us, she probably could care less with the way I have been treating her.

_Damn it, Santana._   _You can't do that shit anymore; you have to treat her right, like you used to when you were so, so close._

I miss that. I miss us.

I prod the unmoving but still breathing curled up lump with my fingers, poking at her in the various cushiony areas where I can reach with the position I'm in. She makes an unattractive, - so totally attractive - annoyed noise in response and squirms in her spot like a wiggly worm trying its best to get away from its predator. I chuckle and nibble on my bottom lip, wishing she was wiggling on top of me. I'm jealous of a bed, her bed. 

_Pathetic, Lopez._

I sigh and poke at her again, this time where I assume her shoulder blade is. She whines, causing me to feel guilty for bothering her after such an emotional night.

That is until she rolls right into me.

She nestles into my side, instantly warming it, and then as the realization that Quinn Fabray, ex best friend turned frenemy - and future girlfriend - is snuggled against me... my whole body heats up. Now all I want is to be under the stolen cover with her, so that her skin is pressed to mine instead of the super soft and silky Egyptian cotton blanket.

I'd rather have her creamy, pale, baby soft skin rubbing against me any day.

"Quinn?" I call out and squeeze her side softly, attempting to rouse her again.

She hums in response.

"You stole the blanket. Care to share, cuddle bear?" Cuddle bear? I must still be exhausted if I'm rhyming and calling her a term of endearment.

Fuck me sideways. Pathetic is right. It's the drugs, the narcotics are making me mushy, that has to be it because never have I ever used something as sappy as that.

Or maybe it's just Quinn; she seems to bring out not only the worst in me, but apparently the softest, too. Brittany is the only other person to bring down my walls and make me want to give anything, do everything in my power to make her happy, but Quinn, we've never had that. We were close, as close as best friends usually are, but not as close as B and me, not as close as I want us to be now. I want what I had with Britt, with Quinn, except, I want more, I want everything. I don't know how or when my feelings for her bloomed out of control, I mean, when we were in our preteens I had a crush on her first.  My first crush was on Quinn Fabray, however, I was scared, scared of my very, too real feelings for her.

Brittany was my distraction.

I wasn't as scared with her, my feelings were purely sexual for the tall blonde, and seeing as there was a mutual attraction, we started something. She was my first and it was hella amazing, but the sexual attraction eventually turned into more and Quinn got pushed to the back burner, where she stayed until everything with Brittany went to hell.

I lost her, she isn't mine anymore, because I was too stupid to confess my feelings, to confess that I loved her, and now she is with wheels, happy. Who am I to mess with her happiness? She will always be my best friend and she will always be my first, but it's my turn to be happy and Quinn is the only other person who could make me happy.

Quinn is the only one who wouldn't be second best in my eyes, she is the only one who can fill the hole Britt left and make it complete again.

I love her, damn it, so fucking much it hurts.

Now I just need to make things right between us. I hurt her way too damn much; she has been here for me since the, the thing happened and all I've done is thrown it back in her face over and over, pushing her away. It was stupid, it hurt me to do it, but I thought I was doing her a favor. It turns out I was only making things worse for the both of us.

Taking a deep breath, I try to clear my mind so that I can go back to sleep... I'm just missing one key thing; the damn blanket. Ok, two key things, the blanket with Quinn wrapped around me underneath it.

"Q, come on, share the cover, your maimed friend is freezing."  _Yeah, that's it Santana, use the wounded friend card to get her to feel bad._

She finally, and I stress 'finally', moves and lifts up part of the blanket, tugging it out from underneath herself and tossing it over me. I grab hold of it and pull until we are both covered, but when she goes to roll back over, it follows. I growl and with what strength I have in my one good arm, stop her movement and draw her back in against me.

She gasps as her head lands against my breasts.

I stifle a moan and automatically wrap my arm around her, keeping her from moving away from me. I feel her swallow; she is tense, not knowing what to do.

Other than her stillness, the feeling of her pressed so intimately against me feels so fuckin' good.

"It’s okay, Q, you’re fine. Go back to sleep." I try to reassure her of the awkward position we're in, my voice coming out in a wavering whisper.

I'm hoping she doesn't notice it or pick up on how much I really don't mind.

"Are you sure? I-I don't want you mad at me, I can't handle anymore-"

"I'm sure. And I-I'm not mad at you. Go back to sleep." I interrupt her, not being able to handle how small and vulnerable her voice was.

It hurts that I am the cause, that I am the one who caused her to be so insecure.

No more words are said, she tentatively starts to relax and her body settles into me without as much tension, and by the time her breathing evens out again, signaling her sleep, she is fully melded to my body.

_"Guess whose back?" A mere whisper and a too familiar breath sounds like a gun shot piercing through my eardrums, causing me to freeze and my body to promptly fill with dread._

_"Mmm yeah, did you miss me? I bet you did, slut. That's okay, I missed you too. You know who else missed you?" The fucker is straddling my back, his weight trapping me and leaving no chance for me to escape._

_His giant, meaty hand is grasping my shoulder so tightly that it feels crushing, like any more pressure will dislocate or break the shit out of it. He chuckles at my silence and tightens his large muscular thighs against my sides. Breath hitching at the pain, sudden panic rises at the feeling of being trapped, helpless, and at his mercy._

_I hear a click; it's another familiar sound, the cocking of a gun. My heart stops for a spilt second, before jumping back to life and starting to race so hard and erratic that it hurts. My chest tightens in fear, my breathing as spastic as my heart, and my mouth dry as tears run heavily down my cheeks to the pillow, forming a puddle of salty liquid as evidence of my unmasked distress. He laughs again, knowing exactly how I feel and relishing in it._

_Fuckin' bastard._

_"You know, that has to be one of my most favorite sounds in the world, the clicking as the gun finishes 'cocking'." He enounces the last word with a vulgar rock of his hips, making bile rise in my throat as his too noticeable arousal pushes against my lower back._

_It makes me want to throw up._

_The cold metal of said gun runs slowly down my back, and the fear it induces causes my heart to come to a painful halt. He is taking his time, observing my reaction to his twisted game, which is not so well stifled sobs._

_"She missed you; she's missed the feel of your skin and wants nothing more than to plant another one of her precious babies inside of you. But first, I believe we have a game to finish. You remember the game, don't you? Find the ex head cheerio before time is up. You almost, almost found her last time, however it seems that you gave up and forfeited the game. Since I like you so much, though, Santana, I am giving you another chance. It’s so much fun playing with you that I just can't help but want to witness your desperation in finding your little girlfriend."_

_Oh, no, no, this can't be happening, not again._

_I can't. I can't handle this, what if I don't find her and he ends up killing her? What if I do find her and he ends up killing us both? No. No! He is laughing again as he slides down a few inches, I can feel him rocking into me again, the tip of his erection rubbing along my ass. I scrunch my face in disgust and try to buck up, wanting him the fuck off me, but he just groans and grips the back of my neck, pinning me to the bed where I cannot move at all. I need to throw up, like now._

__"_ Get off me!"_

_"Oh, don't worry, mamacita, I'll be getting off and then maybe, just maybe, if you find your girl, I'll get you off, too. I think I'll play with her first, though, make you watch while I take what you so badly want."_

_Oh, God. No, no I won't let him have her. Ever. "Don't you dare touch her. You lay even one finger on my girlfriend, and I will cut off that tic-tac you call a dick and shove it down your throat. I'll watch you bleed to death while you choke on your own cock. I will finally be free of you, and I will take my life back. I won't let you take that away from me, and I sure as hell won't let you take her!"_

_His hold on me strengthens and he growls furiously. Apparently I pissed him off with the tic-tac comment, but too damn bad, I'm pissed at him for having this control over me and talkn' about Quinn like that. He can mess with me, even if I hate it and wish I could be free of him, but mess with my girl? Fuck No._

_I will take anything he throws at me, I'll endure the barbs, the sexual assault, his crushing hold over my body and that damn gun if it means Quinn could have any chance of getting away from him, away from his disgusting intentions and the murderous aftermath._

_He can't have her._

_"Let's play." I grit out through the tightness in my chest, making my voice as hard, cold, and determined as possible._

_"Yes, let us play before I lose what very little patience I have and kill you right now." He spits out in reply, having already lost some of his patience with me._

_Guess I'd better shut the hell up so I can find Quinn._

_The heavy weight on top of me finally moves and I take in a much needed breath to fill my lungs of lost oxygen. My body aches from just that one breath, but I don't let it overwhelm me, because I have an ex head cheerio to locate so we can get the hell out of here._

_Wait, where the hell are we anyway?_

_I cautiously push myself up, knees digging into a carpeted floor. Looking around, my eyes take in the unfamiliar surroundings of what appears to be a bedroom. It’s one I've never been in and I don't know how I got here. Sanchez is nowhere in sight._

_I don't know whether to be relieved or more terrified._

_"Where am I?" I ask out loud, hoping he will hear me and let me in on my location and whatever rules I'm supposed to be following._

_I hear laughter echoing into the room from somewhere else in the house, evil laughter from a demon that sends a violent shudder through my abused body, causing pain to shoot up through my ribs and back._

_"You're in my house, and somewhere inside or maybe even outside, lies your friend, waiting to be saved. It is now 8pm, you have twenty minutes to find and rescue her from death. If you do not win the game, she dies alone, but if you manage to locate her position and save her, then you both can die together. Though, not without some fun first, the three of us will have a good time before I kill her and then you."_

_Fuck! What the hell kind of choice is that? Either let Quinn die alone or save her and let him violate and kill us both. But, what if he plans to do the latter regardless? What if I choose option one and he ends up t-touching and killing her anyway? No. I cannot stand by and do nothing while he has his way with her. We do this together. I will not let her die alone._

_I harden my features back to determination, not letting the fear and panic overpower me. He will not win this. I then dart out of the room as fast as I can, entering a hallway, and as my eyes skim the narrow passage, they widen when I'm met with several doors._

_I snarl and sling open the first one, searching inside of it quickly, yet efficiently. She isn't here. I run out, going to the next and then to the next, finding nothing. I'm growing inpatient, frantic, with each searched room. There seems to be a new door along the too damn long hallway every time I exit the last, and it's making me want to burst into tears already. I don't give up, but I know that she isn't in any of these rooms, so I run past them until I reach a staircase leading to I'm assuming the first floor._

_I don't hesitate to spring down them. I manage to land feet first on a flat surface; it hurts, pain spearing through my feet and up my legs from the impact. I ignore it, and with a grimace, keep running. His laughter follows and surrounds me like a heat seeking missile, penetrating my ears, my mind, and my soul; darkening it, blackening it._

_"You have twelve minutes. I'd hurry if I was you, she doesn't have much time." His words whisper close, his rotten breath assaulting me and making me gag._

_He isn't even in the room._

_"When I find her, and trust me, I will, you are so fuckin' dead!" I yell at him, infuriated._

_You don't piss off a Lopez, and this Lopez? She is beyond pissed._

_He cackles in response, not worried or afraid for his life in the least. I clench my hands into fists and continue my search, looking everywhere. The living room, the three bedrooms, and then the kitchen last. Tears have started to pour relentlessly down my cheeks, hitting the floor in silent splashes as I turn in frenzied circles in the middle of the kitchen._

_"Quinn, where are you?!"_ _I scream, and scream loud, it reverberating throughout the kitchen as my fists pound repeatedly on the counter._

_My heart hammers in my chest, afraid and aching for her._

_I can't give up. I won't._

_"Seven minutes left. Tick. Tock. Don't want her to suffocate, do you?" He speaks again with mirth, just as close as last time and yet still nowhere near me._

_I glance around once more._

_There is a basement across from me that I swear wasn't there before, and I head over to it, yanking the door open. I proceed to walk down into whatever is waiting at the bottom in the dark. Halfway down, though, I stop, something telling me not to go any further, that Quinn isn't there. I listen. Running out, I head straight to the back door and exit the house._

_I look around, eyes darting around from irrelevant objects in the yard to the expanse of woods behind the house. Please, God, do not let her be in those woods. I'll never find her in time. That same thing from earlier is telling me that she isn't there either, that she's hidden somewhere else outside and if I don't hurry it will be too late for the both of us._

_I continue to run, aiming for the side of the house. What I find that isn't so irrelevant is a garage not connected to the house. I go for the side door and to my surprise, it opens._

_I whisper a thank you to whatever it is that is watching over me, over us._

_It's dark save for the blaring headlights of a running car parked in the middle. The smell of fumes and gas is chokingly strong. That isn't even the worse part, I know what happens if a car is left on in a closed space; carbon monoxide is expelled out. It is a silent killer. My eyes squint from the brightness of the lights as I jog over. I take a deep ass breath and peer into the front window, scared of what I will or will not find._

_Nothing._

_I clench my jaw and look in the back seat, hoping to God that she is in there, because I know that I am out of time. A gasp escapes when my eyes land on Quinn; she is curled up on the leather seat in a fetal position._

_"Quinn! Can you hear me? I'm here, baby. I'm right here!" Tears that never dried spill over as I grasp the door handle and jerk it, but the damn door is locked, keeping me from getting to her easily._

_I don't try the others._

_I look around for something to break the window with, however the garage is void of anything tool related, there is nothing but the car and empty space. I growl yet again and search my own body for anything I can use. Fingers touching something solid inside my pocket, I snatch it out. It's my cell phone. I lift both of my arms in the air and then thrust down on the front window, using the phone over and over even as my already bruised hands become bloody. I'm not giving up._

_The window cracks. I hit it with screams of frustration and fear until the cracks become larger and the glass finally shatters._

_Hacking over the strong smell while dropping the phone and unlocking all of the doors from the inside, I hold my breath and barrel through, knowing she has been in here longer than me, suffering even though she is passed out. Dios! Please let her be passed out and not-I can't even think it. I wrench the back door open and without checking to see if she has a pulse, I scoop her up, cradle her to me, and then run for the exit._

_When we make it out far enough away, I drop to my knees and lay her gently on the grass, and then my fingers go to her neck; there is a light beating under my fingertips, unsteady but there. I sigh in relief, slumping over and resting my head on her to feel the rise and fall of her chest and the slow but steady thumping of her heartbeat._

_She is alive._

_Thank you Jesus._

_I tense when I feel a presence lurking behind us._

_"I was hoping you would find her, in fact, I was rooting for you. I simply cannot pass up the chance to fuck the bitch and then kill her in front of you."_ _He grabs hold of me before I can react, pinning my arms behind my back, and hurling me off Quinn and onto my feet._

_I roar like a trapped lion in a cage and with all my might try to force myself free."Get the fuck off me, you son of a bitch! Let us go! You can't have her, Sanchez!" I scream at him, wriggling and pushing against his hold as he laughs and hauls me away from her._

_"On the contrary, I can have her and I will. There is absolutely nothing you can do but watch as I tear her apart from the inside out." I'm turned and thrown forward, head slamming into a tree with bruising impact._

_My knees buckle and I drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. His arms encircle my shoulders and he pushes me back until I'm pressed into the tree; I try fighting it, again pushing against his hold, but I'm dizzy and my attempts fail. The next thing I know, I am tied up with thick rope with no way of escaping, not that I don't try, because I do, it's just too tight and I can't move much at all._

_My head lulls back and I look up at him through hazy eyes, mustering up the strongest menacing glare possible, and when he just chuckles in my face, I spit in his. He snarls and then rearing his hand back, slaps the shit out of me._

_I don't give him the satisfaction of making any pained noises._

_I’m silent and so are the tears._

_I watch him stand and walk backwards with an evil smirk. "You're going to regret that." He turns his head to leer lecherously at Quinn."Your girl's ass is mine."_

_"No! Don't you dare touch her! Quinn, you have to get up and get the fuck out of here!" He ignores me, moving closer to Quinn, who is still lying prone on the cold ground._

_As he goes to hover over her, I scream and fight against the bonds holding me captive, but they remain un-pliable. He stares right at me as he takes the blue sundress she is wearing and rips it down the middle, revealing her breasts to him and the cool air._

_"Noo! Damn it, Quinn, wake up!"_

_Shifting, she groans, and her head lazily flops to the other side, facing me. "Quinn, open your eyes, baby, please!"_

_His lips go around one of her nipples, and his hand slides up her thigh, disappearing under her torn dress. Bile once again rises up and my blood boils with hatred and rage. I continue to fight, causing the rope to rub harshly against my bare arms and across my stomach, but I could care less as long as I can escape to go kill the motherfucker._

_Quinn's eyes flutter open and she stares at me, blank and emotionless._

_"San, help me." Her lips move, only mouthing the words, but I hear them clearly, as if though she were standing right in front of me._

_"I'm trying, but you're gonna have to help me help you, okay? Quinn, look at me! Do not give up on us; we are getting through this, damn it!" I reply to her silent plea, but end up screaming when she looks away from me with eyes still void of anything._

_They are completely vacant, it's like she's dead inside and that scares the fuck out of me._

_"I'm scared, Santana! Don't leave me! I need you, please, you have to help me!" Oh God, this isn't happening, I have to get out._

_I have to help her._

_"I will, I promise! You have to fight back though, baby. I need time, just give me time to get free, and I'm there." I'm sobbing out freely now, no more silent tears, the dam has broken and I can't stop the flood._

_My skin is rubbing raw, but I push against the rope, fighting against the cage so I can be set free. She needs me and she needs me now._

_Quinn is completely naked and the bastard is fully on top of her, his heaving body riddled with sweat as he thrusts against her, inside of her, as she lies there motionless. This time I do throw up, it projectiles and splatters over my pants and then drips down my chin. His laughter again fills the silence; it resonates around us and clings like slime._

_He looks at me, the devil shining in his eyes as he plunges himself inside her harder, faster. He's mocking me. He suddenly stops and then quicker than I can blink, has her turned over on her knees and is piercing her very core at a blinding pace. Still, she makes no noise, not even cries of pain or protest; she just takes it._

_He looks at me again, smirking while waving that damn gun maniacally over her back and then pointing the barrel way too fucking close to her head._

_"No! Point it at me!" I holler frantically, eyes widening in panic and horror._

_He shakes his head no and pushes it closer, almost touching the back of her head now. "Do you want to know my number one favorite sound, Santana?" He asks and cocks it slowly, never breaking eye contact with me; I sneer at him and shake my own head while still forcefully trying to escape._

_"Why don't I tell you anyway? No, better yet, why don't I just show you?" The gun presses into her head, I scream, he snickers and Quinn does nothing._

_"Santana." Her voice is low, but full of emotion that her eyes didn't show._

_I growl deeply, animalistically, and it echo's around the yard at the same time he howls and convulses against her. Both sounds almost cover the gunshot, but it's the loudest in my ears, ringing in them until I can't hear anything._

_"QUINN! NOOO!" I wail out, high-pitched screams following. My head shakes wildly, hysterically, and my eyes clench closed as gasping sobs join the screaming._

"Santana, it's okay, you're okay, baby." I struggle in his grasp, twisting to get away from him. I push and shove until I'm free and then scramble away with wide eyes.

I have to run; I have to get out of here. He is going to hurt me like he hurt Quinn.

_Oh, God, Quinn! No! No, no, no!_

_"_ You s-shot her! I am going to fucking murder you, you son of a bitch! _"_   Screeching in anguish, I claw at the arms wrapping around my torso, trying in vain to _hurt_ the man who just killed my best friend in cold blood.

"Santi, stop, it’s your papi! Look at me, mija; I am not going to hurt you." He pushes me into eyesight and his hands cup my cheeks, the voice familiar and not at all like the demon who just viciously violated Quinn.

My unfocused eyes dart around while my fuzzy head catches up to where I actually am and to who is really holding me in their arms, and then when my eyes find purchase on his, the words he spoke moments before register in my head.

My father.

It's my papi in front of me, not Sanchez. I buckle to the floor, keening; it is the only word to describe the sounds coming out of my mouth.

"Quinn!" I try to yell for her, but her name comes out in a strangled sob and I don't know if she heard me, or if she is even here.

I need to know that she is okay and I need to see her with my own eyes.

Dad kneels before me and scoops me up and on to his lap; I curl into him and continue to cry out. "Please, please daddy, I need her." He starts rocking me as his hand runs through my hair and he murmurs softly in my ear.

"She's at school, baby; it's after ten."

"I have to call her. Papi, I need to make sure she's okay! Please let me call her." I beg of him, pleading as my tears drench through his shirt.

"Okay, okay, sweetie, sit right here while I go get my phone." He relents, acquiescing, and maneuvering me off him to where I am sitting on the floor.

"If you get mine, I can call-"

"Honey, Judy found your cell phone over there on the floor, broken. I'll get you a new one, but for now you may use mine." He cuts me off, reminding me that my phone is broken now and making me remember why.

I nod, it's the only thing I can do at the moment. Thoughts of Quinn have taken over my mind and I'm afraid if I try to talk before I hear her voice, I'll lose it again and won't be able to call her lucidly. He nods back with a squeeze to my hand and a soft smile, and then stands up and exits the room, leaving me here alone.

I try not to think of the nightmare I just had, it hurts too much and makes me sick. I'm surprised that I didn't throw up in real life, but I won't be surprised if it happens anyway because my stomach is churning just from the memory of what Quinn had to endure.

It had felt so real, too real, and I thought I had lost her forever.

When my father strolls back in, I'm sitting on the edge of Quinn's bed, her pillow tucked against my chest, and arm wrapped around it snuggly. I needed something of hers to tether me, to keep me from going completely mental. Papi hands me his phone and I waste no time in dialing Q's number, her getting in trouble be damned. Me needing her trumps over anything right now. It rings until her voice mail comes on; I curse out loud and redial her.

xXx

Present, Quinn

I'm in class, doodling as the history teacher drones on and on. I ended up tuning him out after the word politics left his mouth. There may be politics surrounding my school life, well, okay, so there seems to be an abundance of that subject in school, but that's just the thing, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to keep up with it, so when a teacher starts sprouting about the subject, whether it be politics now, or from way back when, I tune the hell out.

I only keep up with what's going on in the world of politics enough to make sure I know what side I'd want to vote on when I'm old enough.

Every vote counts, right? I care at least that much.

Therefore, when my cell phone vibrates for a second time in the skinny jeans that I decided to wear today, I don't hesitate to sneak it out and check who is calling me. There are only a few choices; everyone I know is here at school except for mom and Santana. The number is unknown, though, and I'm conflicted on whether I should answer. Something is telling me yes, answer the call, it's important. I raise my hand to get Mr. Politics attention.

"Yes, miss…Frabra?" Oh, and did I mention our history teacher is new? No? Well, he is, and that is the second time he has gotten my damn name wrong. Frabra, though, really? Last time he called me Faberry. How in the world did he even manage to get Berry's last name mixed up with mine? Ugh. What a weirdo. At least it doesn't bother me, not as it would have if I were still a cheerio and still had some vendetta against Rachel.

"It's Fabray, sir. May I have a hall pass? I need to use the restroom." I correct him as nicely as I can; only rolling my eyes when he blushes and looks away for a moment.

Quiet snickers - one not so quiet - spread throughout the room, whether at his expense or mine I don't know and I really don't care. All I care about right now is calling that number back. The teacher finally nods and waves me over to his desk; I get up and stride that way, ignoring the obvious stare downs directed at me. The second I am out the door, I'm mashing buttons and waiting anxiously for the other side to start ringing.

"Quinn?" My name slips through Santana’s lips in a broken whimper, making my heart ping painfully and start to beat rapidly against my rib cage.

"San, what's wrong?" I'm quick in replying as I slam the closest bathroom door wide open and jog through it.

"Oh, God, please tell me that you're okay?! I need for you to be okay! Q, he, he had you and he was on top and he just pulled the trigger. Dios, I watched him take you-"

"Whoa, Santana, sweetie I need you to slow down and breathe for me. I'm okay, I promise. He hasn't touched me; I'm at school, safe." I interrupt her, not being able to listen anymore of her tortured voice. What she was saying sounds like some twisted nightmare involving me, and tears have already started spilling down my face from the images flashing through my mind and from how heart breaking she sounded.

I can hear her trying to stop the sobs; it causes her breath to hitch from the effort, which makes the same breaths come back out unsteady, before starting the process all over again. In return, I try not to let my own cries become noticeable.

"Q-Quinn, I-I need for you to be here. I hardly ever ask you for anything, but I-"

"Say no more, I said I'd be here for you, and I'm sticking to it. Give me time and I'm there." I again cut her off, needing her to know that I'll always be here, no matter what. I don't feel anything but relief from her finally asking for me, no cockiness or triumph, just whole hearted relief at her needing me and finally admitting it to where I can help her.

"No, don't say that! Those words, I used them and, and I couldn't, Q, I couldn't get there in time. _Fuck!_ He took you, God; he used you and then took you away." She yells at me, overly panicked and gasping for breath.

It sounds like she is having a panic attack and I hate that I'm not there to hold her through it. "Santana, I need for you to listen to me, okay?"

I take a deep breath and expel it slowly, trying to calm my own nerves. Her breathing is fast and ragged and the cries seemingly uncontrollable, but she whimpers a soft okay. I run through the empty hallways to the front entrance, vaguely registering two figures standing outside one of the classrooms and their halted conversation as they follow me with wide, surprised eyes. They are ignored and I don't stop running until I reach my car.

"You had a nightmare. It wasn't real, he hasn't taken me anywhere. I am safe and getting in my car right now." I tell her softly, trying to reassure her as best I can, and then continue to talk while squealing out of the parking lot. "You're having a panic attack and I need for you to close your eyes and take slow, deep breaths before you hyperventilate. Can you do that for me?" Instead of answering, I hear her do as told. 

She breathes in and it comes back out shaky, and then she does it again while fighting to hold it together. "Q?"

"I'm on the way, baby, hold on a little longer for me. Is one of our parents with you?" Even as I ask, I can hear soft-spoken words in the background directed at Santana.

"Papi, he's here with me." She lets me know through a whisper, voice coming out raspy from crying so damn hard.

I want nothing more than to soothe her, to hold her in my arms until she feels safe again. I keep her on the phone the rest of the drive there, talking quietly while listening to her sobs turn into calmer sniffling. I speed into the driveway and break so hard that I bounce back into the seat before coming to a complete stop; it doesn't deter me in the least.

"Santana, I'm here. I'm coming up." I let her know while bursting through the front door; it slams behind me and I run up stairs to my room, finally hanging up the phone and letting it drop to the floor as I come to a halt in front of the bed, where she is slumped against her dad with his phone smushed to her ear.

When the recognition flickers in her eyes and she registers that I'm standing right in front of her, she springs up and launches herself at me. I don't have time to adjust and move to accommodate her weight, so she ends up slamming her injured shoulder into me. She emits a pained gasp as we stumble backward, and I immediately adjust and wrap one of my arms around her, steadying us. "It's okay, I've got you now. I'm here. I'm right here."

"Girls, I'm going to go get Santana's pain medicine. She has been hurting, but refused to take anything until you got here." Juan speaks up from beside us, disapproving, yet understanding at the same time.

I have to agree, she shouldn't make herself suffer, but obviously, she was in too much distress to handle taking anything for her pain. I nod at him and Santana mumbles something incoherent against my neck, holding onto me like a lifeline, at least best she can with the sling in the way. It would be better to have both our arms wrapped around each other instead of just one. Frowning at that, I put my hand on her hip, and she grasps at the back of my shirt, squeezing me and burying her face more into my neck.

Tears heavy, wet drops splash onto my skin and I feel them slide down my collarbone and past my shirt; she is weeping.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She apologizes repeatedly while clinging to me, for what I don't know, but I don't feel it necessary for her to apologize for something she couldn’t control.

It doesn't seem right.

"San, what are you apologizing for? You don't need-"

"I couldn't save you! I-I watched helpless as he took you right in front of me. I tried so hard to get free, but it wasn't hard enough, it wasn't fucking _enough!_ " She man handles me into eyesight and hollers in my face, her eyes wide and so damn tortured that it rips an anguished sob from my mouth.

Dropping to her knees before I can react, she emits these soul wrenching wails, ones that feel, quite literally, like they’re mangling my soul. I kneel down and crush my broken friend into me as gently as I can, needing to anchor her so that she doesn't drown.

"I'm here. I'm right here with you. It was all a nightmare, that bastard hasn't lain even one finger on me. And he will never, ever hurt you again if I can help it. I'll protect you. I will. I'm appointing myself as your champion." I whisper into her hair, making it my objective to ease her mind and instill my conviction inside of her head.

She needs to know that I mean and believe my own words.

I need for her to trust me.

I feel a slight vibration against my ear following a miniature Santana Lopez chuckle. My heart jolts in response to the unexpected reaction and a small grin tugs at my lips.

"Are you making fun of me, Lopez?"

There is a murmured "Always, Fabray." and warm breath ghosting across my ear. I can't stop the shiver that results, or the way my fingers contract against her back.

"I'd never expect anything less. Come on, let's get in bed."

I feel her stiffen for several seconds before she shakes her head and sighs. "Shoulder hurts like a bitch."

I'm not sure what just transpired in those few seconds, but I don't bombard her with questions; she doesn't need that right now. She needs pain meds, my bed, and me. I am not going anywhere. I'll stay here as long as I need to, and if that's forever, then damn it, I will stay here with her forever. My only concern is her well-being, keeping her safe from everything, _anyone_ , including those dreams and even from herself.

She needs me and that is all that matters in the Quinn Fabray world. Seeing her so broken, so lost and vulnerable, makes me want to do anything to help pick up the pieces and put her back together good as new, _no_ , better than that.

Whatever it takes.

Helping her stand, I walk us over to her side of the bed, and then I watch as she tiredly settles back into the spot that she has apparently taken over. Her bloodshot eyes avoid mine the entire time. I give her a few moments while we wait on her dad to come back up, and then when he does, I take the tray of food from him with a small smile and a thank you, setting it down.

He bobs his head and looks from me to his daughter with sad eyes. "I'm going to leave you two alone, I know you both need it, but if either of you need anything else at all, let me know. I'll be right downstairs. Judy and Teresa went out for brunch and then were headed to the grocery store."

"Thank you, papi." Santana looks up at him, chin trembling and eyes misty.

"Always. I love you. And you too, Quinn. I love both of you girls to death. Now get some rest, mis ángeles. Make sure to eat some food before taking your pill." He first gives her a hug and kiss on the head, and then me, while letting us both know that he loves us.

I smile at being called one of his angels; it feels really damn good. His own eyes become misty as well and he looks over us affectionately before leaving the room.

I re-grab the tray from the nightstand and set it on Santana's lap. Her dad made us both PB&J sandwiches, a bowl of mixed fruit to share, and two glasses of milk. "Eat for me? It'll give you back some of your lost energy."

She bows her head and I can see that she is shaking slightly in an attempt to reign in her tears; if she starts crying again she is going to start me off and then we are going to be back where we started. I need to give us both a few minutes of space.

But first, I can't resist trying to put a smile back on her face, no matter how small it might end up being. I wait until she grasps a half of sandwich and then make my move, following its decent to her mouth, and when she notices my face getting closer, she pauses and stares at me questioningly. I say nothing, instead, diving in to take a bite right off the tip, and while doing so, our noses graze each other's.

I grin, giving her a proper Eskimo kiss and then pull back and away from the bed. Rather than the smile I wanted, though, she looks at me skeptically, obviously in a bit more shock over the sudden action than I expected. Oops.

A blush rises to my cheeks. I don't know what came over me or why I chose to do what I did, all I wanted was a smile, but now I'm thoroughly embarrassed from my own out of character behavior. Fresh tears prick my eyes and I look away, clenching my hands in frustration.  _Too much, too soon, Fabray. Stupid. How could you have thought she would accept your little affection after everything you have been through?_

_You have to remember that she is stubborn and doesn't like all the touchy feely shit, unless it's with Brittany. Damn it, everything is always Brittany, she is always Santana's exception. Why can't we be like that? It's not fair. It isn't fair at all. I can't blame our tall blonde friend, though, or Santana; you can't help how you feel. It's just that I feel left out._

"Quinn-"

"I'm sorry, I just, I wanted to make you smile." I cut her off and then slump out of the room dejectedly. I just need that space to gather my composure then I'll be fine, as long as she doesn't make it awkward when I return.

After using the restroom and splashing some cool water on my face, I go back into my room and shut the door. Those two minutes away from her was more than enough. She is in such a fragile state that I don't need to be away too long or she may end up losing it or fall asleep again without me there and end up having another nightmare.

Not that she wouldn't have one while I'm in here, but it's nice to think that my presence is enough to bitch slap the son of a whore from her mind so he won't go anywhere near her dreams. My eyes fall on the tray, which is now on the floor, along with whatever food she didn't finish eating. Luckily, the glasses weren't still on it.

I walk over to it and pick everything up, choosing not to say anything to her yet; I'll wait until I'm under the cover and comfortable before talking. I set the tray on my dresser, strip out of my pants and bra, then make my way over to my side of the bed, sliding in under the cool blanket and as close to her as I can get without having to lay on top of her.

Memories from last night flash through my head; it puts a smile on my face, remembering how she had to wake me up to get back her part of our cover and then how I ended up flush against her. I was worried that she would push me away, but was pleasantly surprised when she wrapped her arm around me instead. She let me stay that way. I didn't object because that was the first time in forever that we’ve cuddled up while falling asleep. Britt, San and me used to do that all the time at our sleepovers.

I missed the closeness.

"I dropped it." She blurts out in the tense silence amounting in the room around us.

I don't believe her one bit. I'm not angry or upset, though, just a little sad that she got irritated enough to toss it on the floor.

"No, you didn't." I state knowingly, but gently to let her know that I am not judging. To reassure her of that, I rest my hand over hers, giving it a squeeze and then leaving it there when she doesn't jerk away.

I crave the closeness that Santana and Brittany have, or had, until Artie got in the way, but the two inseparable best friends are still closer than Santana and me have ever been and probably ever will be. I don't know if it is really possible to miss something that you've never had, but it feels that way, I feel that way and I don't know how or why.

Yet, when I look at Santana, when I see how she is now, damaged and most likely scarred for life, I honest to God crave to be as close as humanly possible to her. Hell, I have been craving and wanting that even before she got…hurt. Now, though, it has become stronger and more like a thirst, an unquenchable thirst.

_Damn._ When did I start feeling or even thinking that way?

I don't know.

I can't pin point an actual date, but I also cannot say that it is entirely new either, just renewed and uncovered. _Stronger._ I have a feeling that something started inside of me when we first met; however, I must have repressed any type of unnatural feelings towards her when she showed more interest in Brittany than me. That and when my father spoke so badly of the Berry family, I knew whatever thoughts I had back then were wrong and therefore doused them like a burning fire. But, some fires can be relit, and apparently, the one inside of me is burning stronger than ever.

I'm not sure how to feel or what to do, though it's probably best that I do nothing, the feelings I may or may not be…feeling at the moment are less important than Santana's health. She doesn't need the added stress of me drooling all over her.

Not that I am.

Gah, why did I have to have an epiphany now? She isn't in any shape to handle-okay, so; I'm not in any shape to handle this, whatever 'this' is. Is it a crush? Do I have a girl crush on my best friend? No. I can't. That's stupid; I've never had any types of other girl crushes before, why would I start now? What I'm feeling now and what I was feeling back then when we met must just be…something else.

Right? Right.

I shake my head to rid of the thoughts stampeding through it and take a glance at said best friend. She is staring off into space, eyes droopy and a goofy side grin plastered on her face. My hand is still resting in hers and our fingers are now interlocked.

My heart flutters as butterflies dance inside my chest.

"Hey, San?" I call her name quietly to not disturb the little bubble we're in, but loud enough to get her attention.

She doesn't reply right away, her eyes stay focused on nothing for a few seconds, and then she blinks and turns her head to look at me.

The goofy grin never leaves her face. "Hey there, cuddle bear."

Cuddle bear? I'm not sure what to do with that one. I'll just put it down to her being high as hell and not knowing what she is saying. "The gleeks miss you. They're all seriously worried, you should have seen them today, every single one of them were so down that they couldn't muster up the will to sing in glee club. As your friend, I suggest you let at least some of them come over to see you. Please. Can you do that for both of us?"

She stays silent and just stares at me, the grin slipping only slightly, but to my surprise she nods once, and then she turns her head back and continues to stare off in space.

"Will you choose who? Apparently, you know what is best for me anyway. Just, not all of them, k? I don't want to be overwhelmed. And I'm sorry, but not the hobbit, not yet."

I also contribute her being high to giving in finally, too, because no way would she agree so easily if she were sober, unless that nightmare really made her think on what she is doing to herself, and what she is missing out on. She needs her friends, our little makeshift family, and maybe she realizes that now.

This is a major milestone and I'm glad she took the step.

"I can do that. When school gets out, I'll call and invite some of them over for dinner. Also, I might not know everything that is best for you as I should, but I do know this, what Rachel told you was true. Everyone in glee does care about you in their own way and I honestly believe that the best thing for you is for them to come over and show you that they do. I don't know how much you trust in me, or if you even do anymore, but I just, I need for you to trust me on this, okay? Please trust in me." As always, I'm obsessed with getting her to believe me, the only thing I seem to do lately.

Reassuring my best friend is a full time job that I do not mind working.

I start to get nervous and admittedly hurt when she doesn't say anything after several minutes, and I cautiously lift my head up to where I can see her face, which is turned away from mine. Her eyes are closed and her breathing even; she's asleep.

_Damn it._

My eyes close in frustration and I pout. I just said all that to her and she freakin' slept through the whole thing! I sigh, huff, and then plop back down onto my pillow, burying my face in the cool softness. It smells like Santana. The sudden urge to rub against it is damn strong; I don't resist. My cheek slides down, up, and then I breathe in deeply. It makes my eyes roll back, and the even stronger urge to rub against her instead of just the pillow wracks my body with an intense shudder.

I have to resist, even if my throbbing center is screaming at me not to. I have never felt this strong of a reaction from a smell, or from, hell, from _anything._

"I trust you."

Remember those butterflies from earlier? They have now turned into bats and seemed to have migrated to my stomach, sending shockwaves of emotion all over and most importantly straight to my core.

I clench my eyes closed and stifle a moan as I throb and pulse in need. I lick my suddenly dry lips, before replying back, because I can't not say anything after three of the most important words were uttered with such vulnerability.

"Thank you. I trust you, too, Santana." And I do, maybe not completely, because I'm afraid of her still pushing me away, but we both know it will take time to rebuild what we had to something better.

For now, though, it's enough.

I feel her fingers tickle over mine until her hand covers my own and stays there. Silent tears dampen my pillow, but this time they aren't sad ones, they are happy, relieved tears.

And, maybe even tears of want.

I am officially fucked.


	10. Chapter 10

Wednesday evening, Quinn. 

I’m perched on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone’s screen as Santana’s mom helps her take a bath. I’ve been in the same spot for over ten minutes, wishing it were me in there instead. It’s hard to focus on anything else, knowing that she is just feet away; naked.

I shake out of my Santana induced haze, and finally dial one of the gleek’s numbers. It’s past four o’clock now and everyone is out of school; hence the bath Santana is soaking in without me. Ever since earlier, before we fell asleep and definitely after we woke up, I can’t stop the racing thoughts of her fogging up my head; they have taken over and won’t leave me alone.

I am a little weirded out by them; it’s as if something has awoken inside of me and now that it is free, it’s running loose and giving me all these feelings that I may or may not have had when we were younger, only ten times worse - stronger - than anything I could have possibly felt then.

"Hey, baby mama!" Puck’s normal greeting has me cringing.

Why does he insist on calling me that all the time? Doesn’t he know how much it _hurts_ me hearing the words baby and mama together? I don’t correct him, there’s no point. He never listens. Besides, I know that he is hurting, too, and we have a connection over her, so I’ll let him keep the name because of it. "Hey, Puck."

He is silent for a few seconds, probably wondering why I haven’t yelled at him yet. I find myself chuckling fondly. Yes, we do have a connection and I will always care for him.

"What’s up? Is everything okay? You left school early." He sounds worried.

There’s no doubt as to why.

"Okay as it can be. Santana called, she needed me home." I wince once the words have left my mouth; no one but Rachel, Sam, and Britt knew that Santana was released from the hospital.

_Oops._

I guess it really doesn’t matter; I’m calling for him to come over anyway.

"She’s with you? Q, what the hell is going on?" His tone is now not only more worried, but has picked up an edge of impatience.

This is exactly why I didn’t want Santana to wait so long to tell them. But, this isn’t about what I want, this is all Santana’s needs, and I will continue to meet them unless I feel it necessary to push and encourage the stubborn girl in the right direction.

"Yes, she is with me. I’m calling because she agreed to see some of you tonight, to let you know what happened. Come to my house at six and don’t bring anyone else. I have to go make a couple more calls." I let him know quickly, before hanging up just as quick.

I didn’t want a barrage of questions thrown at me that I can’t, no, _will not_ answer.

Nervously drumming my fingers against my thigh, I scroll through numbers and contemplate on whom else to call other than Brittany. I text her while thinking on it.

~ Hey, B, can you come over tonight? Santana wants to see you. ~ Q

Who next? Absolutely no on Finn. Kurtcedes are a package deal usually and may be too much for Santana in one go. Lauren, no, just, _no_. Mike… she could handle him. No Munchkin unfortunately, and Sam has already seen her.

That leaves Artie and Tina.

I check my phone when it beeps in a new text,

~ Hello, Quinn. I noticed, well, we all noticed that you left school early, and I wanted to check in. Is everything all right? San won’t answer any of my texts, and though I didn’t expect her to, I’m still worried for her well being. How are you? I worry for you, too, Quinn. ~ Munchkin.

Rachel’s concerned text is touching, but before I can reply, another beeps in,

~ Hi Q! I missed u at school. Y did u leave? What time does S want me over? I miss her but she won’t answer any of my calls or texts. :( ~ B

I can’t help but smile sadly. I love B to death, and she loves Santana just as much.

I text her back first,

~ She called during school and needed me to come home. Supper, my house at 6:00pm, and don’t bring anyone else with you. S broke her phone, that’s why she has not answered, but she misses you too. C u soon! ~ Q

I hit send and then compose a reply to Rachel,

~ Hey, Rach. Sorry to worry you. Everything is okay considering... but Santana needed me so I came home early. She’s better now. Her cell is broke, though. Papi is buying her a new one soon, so don’t fret too much. If you ever feel the need to check in, text or call me anytime, okay? I’m doing all right, too, considering. I’m just so tired and drained from fear and worry over my best friend. We’ve been through so much lately. I hate it. Sorry. ~ Q

Damn, I didn’t mean to write all of that. It’s too late to take it back now. Apparently, my body knows how much I need to get everything out in the open.

Knows how much things are eating away at my insides.

~ Thank you for allowing me to check in when needed. Quinn, I want so badly to help her. I know it doesn’t make sense to either of you, but I can’t explain it. I know that there isn’t anything she wants from me; however, I’m helping regardless, even if she will not let _me._ I got my father to be there for her in my stead. But, you, if you allow me, I can and will be there personally. I wish I could take the weight off your shoulders.

All I can do is offer my friendship once again and make sure you believe me when I say that I am here for you. Never be sorry, Quinn, not with me. I have the ability to listen just as much as I can talk. ~ Munchkin

I release a genuine laugh, one that feels really damn good, as my heart melts at her caring selfless words. That girl truly is something else; I’m honestly speechless right now. How the hell do I respond to that? Thank you doesn’t seem good enough, yet at the same time, maybe those two words coming from me would mean the world to Rachel.

Feet padding into the room alert me to Santana’s return. I look up, and then blush instantly at the sight standing before me. Santana in a towel, with dark, wet hair. Water beads gathered onto said wet hair drip drop to her bare shoulders, and then race one another down her chest.

_Jesus,_ it should be a sin to be that gorgeous.

Our eyes lock; she appears somewhat revived, but still emotionally tired.

I thumb a hasty reply to Rachel, and then stand to meet my friend in the middle of our shared room, pulling her into my arms for a tight hug. I don’t care that she is wet and in only a towel, I needed this and I can tell that she did, too. I breathe her in, inhaling my shampoo, body wash, and underneath that everything uniquely Santana. Smelling her on my pillows is one thing, but her scent is so much better straight from the source.

Though, I have to admit that a not so unpleasant feeling warms my body at the thought of her remarking my bed. When she’s out of the room, I will be able to smell her.

"I missed you." My face blazes at my own admission.

The words were supposed to stay inside my head.

"I was gone half an hour, Q." She chuckles lightly against my ear, body tensing in my arms, and it’s just now that I realize that her arms have not recuperated and are stiff at her sides.

 I feel suddenly stupid, embarrassed, and vulnerable at how fast I clung to her, so I move to pull away from where I’m not really wanted. She emits a strange noise, a whimper maybe, and circles her good arm around my waist, keeping me pressed against her. " _Don’t_."

Conceding, I go pliable in her embrace. If she wants me here, then who am I to refuse such a desperate hold? I wouldn’t dare risk her walls slamming back into place just because I failed to give her something as simple as a hug.

"I missed you." The words escape me a second time. They go beyond a half hour bath; they represent more than that, as in years of denied friendly contact.

"Imisstoo." She murmurs in the crook of my neck, lips softly grazing the sensitive skin there and simultaneously causing an uncontrollable shiver and goosebumps to spike up along my spine.

"I-I’m sorry, could you repeat that in your big girl words?" Swallowing thickly, I attempt to tease her, while greedily clutching her closer.

Tensing again, she scoffs against my neck. "You hearing things now, Q?"

Rolling my eyes, I travel up the expanse of her back, and to the exposed flesh above her towel, where venturing fingers slide against cool, wet skin, and past damp hair to tickle the fine baby hairs underneath. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, being this bold and touchy feely, -something that she hates with a passion, - but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Now that I have the chance to make things right between us, I need to make up our time apart by hugging her like there’s no tomorrow. I’m pretty sure the way I feel is mixed with a deeper need, one to just _touch her_ , and by deeper, I mean something even a best friend shouldn’t be feeling, time away from each other or not.

"I missed you." I say it for a third time, hoping to get a clear response from her, and if not, I will keep saying it until I do.

Sighing softly, she slumps in my arms and begins to subtly shake. Her arm tightens around me, and her head presses strongly on my shoulder.

"I miss you." Laying my head atop hers, I change from past tense to present, wanting her to understand how serious I am.

Her subtle shakes turn not so subtle as she cries against me. My own silent tears spill over and trail down until they’re mixing with her wet hair.

"I’m going to move us to the bed, okay?" I let her know quietly, not wanting to disturb our sad, yet heartfelt bonding bubble with an abrupt, loud voice.

She doesn’t react much other than to nod weakly. I turn my head to gauge the distance to my bed; it’s not far, but any amount of time separated could make her retreat into her shell. The problem isn’t carrying her, I’m strong enough; the problem is the towel.

I peer back at her. "Do you have anything on under there?"

Her already red rimmed eyes snap up to mine, and she gives me a ‘what do you think?’ look that has me mentally face palming. I trail lower, not being able to help myself, and then almost moan at the thought of her completely naked.

_Almost._

She tests my restraint without even knowing it.

"Let’s get you some clothes." I guide her to the bed, easing her to a sitting position. It would have been better - for me - if I could have carried her, but at least she’s still with me.

I leave her there while gathering clothes, and then when I’m done, I kneel in front of her with a pair of my black and silky undearwear. She is staring off into nothing, tears now dry, but the sadness still plainly written on her face. I observe her as I carefully nudge then lift her left foot; she blinks several times and they dart to meet my own.

Setting her foot down, I slide one side of the undies up, and then lift her other foot, doing the same until they are right underneath her knees. "Stand for me?"

Her eyebrows scrunch, her head shakes, and she frowns. "Q-"

"Please?" Cutting her off softly, I plead for her to let me do this.

She is silent for a few moments, contemplating hard on her next move. Finally, she stands, cautiously, with her eyes downcast. I move with her, gliding the underwear up her legs. My eyes stay focused on her face as my fingers brush smooth, tan thighs along the way.

Teresa must have shaved them. It wouldn’t have mattered even if she hadn’t have took the razor after Santana’s perfect legs; I’m just glad to be touching her at all. I tickle my thumbs over her stomach and fingers up her sides, as I keep my eyes trained on hers; they are closed and fresh tears are silently rolling down her cheeks.

It pains me to see them, but I carry on while she isn’t pushing me away.

The towel un-tucks the higher I travel, and I help it the rest of the way by reluctantly removing my hands from underneath it, and tugging on the loose knot in front. My heart is racing and my core pulsing, not so much for my own need, - though that is certainly there - but wanton need to touch her everywhere, and to make her feel wanted and beautiful.

This moment is already so intimate, so new, and so very surreal; I don’t want to ruin it by taking advantage, and anything sexual would be just that. This is sensual and vulnerable, any sudden movement or sound could corrupt it and I would seriously burst into tears if that happened.

When the towel falls to the floor, my eyes still capturing every facial reaction, her own open and bore straight into mine with uneasiness and vulnerability, along with… something else.

Something deeper; _darker._

"I’ve got you." I reassure her, breathing the words close to her ear as I caress her cheek. My other hand grabs the button down, black tank top off the bed.

I help stick her arms carefully in the holes, and then button it up. Once done, my eyes flicker from her face to her arm, or more specifically to the gunshot wound. The stitching is near perfect, and everything, aside from the obvious redness, swelling, and bruising, appears clean and thankfully uninfected. Lifting my fingers, I hover over the healing wound, wishing desperately for some badass Whitelighter powers to heal her completely.

A light knocking on the door jars my nerves and startles us both. Letting out a breath, I clench my jaw and fists for whoever it is that finally burst our bubble.

"Quinnie? Are you girls decent?"

_Mom._

I laugh, or choke on one, really. "Yeah, mom, we’re decent."

Could I sound any more disappointed?

The door opens as Santana sits back down; I sigh and turn to face my mother, already ready for her to leave so that Santana and I can be alone again.

"Just checking in on my two favorite girls. Are you feeling all right?" She walks over to the bed, voice warm with a matching smile.

"Tired."

"Fine."

Santana and I mumble at the same time, though I should have said the same; I’m feeling quite tired myself and want nothing more than to curl up in bed, and hold _my_ favorite girl.

"Okay… Well, honey, did you call some of your friends to come over?" Taken aback by our somber moods, mom blinks, and changes topic.

_Crap, I totally forgot to call anyone else_.

"Yeah, I called a few; they’ll be here for supper." Nodding, I convey my impatience by eyeballing the door and taking a step sideways.

She follows my eyesight, but upon seeing no one there, her eyes flicker between Santana and me curiously. "Hm, I’ll leave you to finish getting ready then." 

When Mom finally inches toward the door, I can literally feel my body release tension that I didn’t even realize it was holding. I automatically go to turn around, but she decides to pause in the doorway, resulting in me giving her an un-helped eye roll.

One that earns a stern expression of warning.

I look away and inch my way closer to the bed, closer to _Santana_ , close enough for her body heat and presence to become comforting warmth to my edgy nerves.

"Santana, your mother will be in shortly to bandage you back up." With that last bit of news, mom exits the room, though not without narrowing her eyes at me first.

I pretend not to notice, and she shuts the door.

Managing to face Santana without mom popping in just to annoy me, I catch the scowl on her face as she tries pulling my old Cheerio’s sweats up her legs. A crooked smile escapes me, despite attempting not to risk her ire by outwardly finding her so adorable. The glare I receive is halfhearted and that only has me smiling fully. I close the little distance to take over, and she grumbles something in Spanish to low for me to hear.

While she reluctantly latches on to my right shoulder, I tug them the rest of the way up, and then encircle her in my arms. "You should lie down. Our company will be here before you know it, and I’m damn sure you won’t get a chance to rest properly until they leave."

"Who’s coming?" She asks tersely, as I remove myself from her body.

A soft knock interrupts my answer, and Teresa’s head pokes in.

She smiles at us; much like Mom had, and invites herself into the room. With an irritable sigh, I plop on my side of the bed, prepared to watch over Santana as her mother doctor’s her up.

"Hello, angels." Piling supplies atop the covers, Teresa greets us warmly.

I muster up a genuine smile, while Santana grumbles and slumps down in front of me on the edge of the bed. Being used to her daughter’s grumpy moods, Teresa’s softened expression stays as she begins the bandage up Santana process.

The atmosphere is a mix between displeasure, and silent understanding from both her mom and myself. Observing what Santana has to go through because of that dick has my thoughts turning sour. He’s taken away most of her independence, which I know for a fact kills Santana, mobility of her arm and shoulder, the feeling of safety inside her own home...

He has a hell of a lot, while Santana is left with the aftermath of a nearly fatal encounter.

Santana has no earthly idea how much her close call with death affects me.

I would murder the monster who harmed her, if it weren’t for the fact of me getting caught and put behind bars, where I’d never be able to live my life by her side.

A sudden hiss of pain knocks me out of my thoughts, and I instinctually set my palm on her back, rubbing the slightly hunched length of it to let her know that I’m there.

Once the sling’s in place, I take a look at it to make sure it’s on correctly, and then when I’m satisfied that it is, the fact that her arm is held so snuggly by something not me, hurts. My chest squeezes at the loss.

Now I’ll have to settle for those one armed hugs.

I hate it.

I hate it not only for me but for her.

Standing, she accepts the forehead kiss from Teresa, and then walks around to climb on her side of our bed. She scooches back and up against the pillows that she claimed as her own, getting as comfortable as possible before huffing and slumping into the softness.

I look to the alarm clock, reading the large green numbers practically mocking me. 5:05, not really enough time to sneak under there with her to take a nap.

Pouting, I sigh resignedly, and receive a knowing pat on the shoulder from Teresa. She gathers the medical stuff and trash, gives me a matching kiss, and then leaves us be.

"Honestly, I only called one of them before you came in. I saw how emotionally tired you were and forgot everything else. Don’t worry, I’ll choose wisely." Scooting closer, I continue our earlier conversation as soon as the door closes again.

She grunts in reply, eyes already closed and her breathing already slowing to an even pace. I lean down, planting a kiss on her baby soft cheek; it lingers there longer than considered _normal_. My lips tingle when I pull away, and my heart sings with a longing melody.

Tears of a different meaning, a different sadness, trek past closed lids.

The feelings that are coursing though my body so quickly and without forewarning scare me. I’ve never felt like this, even when my younger self, too innocent to know any better, thought Santana was the prettiest girl she had ever, ever seen. I couldn’t have known, understood, or even _let_ myself understand what the hell I was feeling.

I still don’t understand.

How can I feel this way for her? It’s wrong, so very wrong.

The Bible, my father, and society all say so.

But, why did it feel so _right_ when I held and then dressed her so intimately?

_Damn it, I don’t have time for this_. _I’m supposed to be calling the others; they need to see her, too. I can’t hog her forever, no matter how much I wish that I could._

I grab my phone, give one last lingering, longing, and pouty glance at Santana and the bed, and then force myself away from her and to the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, I check my phone; I’ve received 1 new text message.

~ Quinn Fabray! I did not need to know any of the sordid details involving you and a naked Santana in your room! God, I cannot believe you sent me that! How could you? Please, Quinn, please don’t ever text me anything like that again, not unless you want to purposely cause-never mind that. Quinn, please, I beg of you. Refrain yourself. ~ Munchkin

_What? What the hell is she going on about?_

I hurriedly exit out of the text and scroll through the ones I sent her earlier. Finding the last one, I open and read what I wrote that freaked her out so damn much.

~ Oh my god, Rach. San naked. My room. Got to go. ~ Q

_What?!_ _What fuckery is this!_

Please tell me that I _did not_ write and send that to Rachel?! Why would I do that to either one of us? I made it sound like we were about to, to have… _sex._

Worse, I made myself sound like some perv! Oh, no, and I made her think we were about to have sexy, knowing that she could have a crush or more on Santana.

Even if we were ‘together’ - which we aren’t and never will be - I wouldn’t announce it like that!

I hurt her by sharing details that aren’t even true.

How do I fix that?

_Fuck._

I think on a reply, one that will deny everything and beg for forgiveness.

I’ll never be able to look Rachel Berry in the eye ever again.

~ Rachel, I am so sorry! I swear to God that I didn’t realize I’d written that. I am so embarrassed, not to mention that I feel horrible for doing that to you. Santana came in from taking a bath, and yes, I’ll admit that I may have become a bit distracted and drooled over her, hence the unconscious text, but I didn’t mean to say anything to you!

Hell, we aren’t even together, it’s just me, I couldn’t help but look and I just had to go hold her. Damn, I’m shutting up now. I’ve said too much, again. Please forgive me and please don’t hate me. I don’t want to mess up our forming friendship.  ~ Q

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it; her inbox is going to have back-to-back texts since not all of my word vomit fit in just one. I hope to God that I didn’t fuck things up between us by sending a stupid pervy text to her. What kind of new friend am I?

Not a very good one, that’s for sure.

I don’t feel like talking to anyone on the phone, so I message two others to drop by for dinner in less than an hour, and make sure they know not to bring any tagalongs.

No questions asked.

I pray that they can come, because Santana need this.

xXx

Six o’clock is here too soon.

I used the time left to shower, dress, and tidy up my room, while Santana slept through it all. Not that I’m angry about her sleeping… I’m just jealous and would have rather joined her. I’ll be counting down the minutes until we’re alone, so that I can go to bed early tonight and sidle up against her side. It’s not a guarantee that I wouldn’t get bitched slapped for invading her personal space yet again, but it would be worth trying.

It’s too bad I can’t _undress_ her; it would make cuddling that much more fun.

Papi is waking her up as I set the table. I wanted to be the one to help her downstairs, to be the one to hold her hand while she made the decent to eat with us for the first time since they arrived here, but an over eager father got that privilege instead.

I just have to keep reminding myself that I can’t hog her to myself, all of the time, even if it is getting hard not to as the hours and days pass.

The doorbell sounds throughout the house, signaling at least one of our dinner guests. I move to go answer it, and run into a disgruntled Santana and her amused dad in the foyer. I wait until they are out of eyesight, before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Puck is on the other side, alone.

"Hey, Q." Murmuring, he skims fingers over his baby hawk nervously.

He is fidgety.

This side of him is kind of endearing.

It’s hard for me to be myself and show anyone my true emotions, but seeing other people, - especially my friends - becoming vulnerable and showing sides of themselves that they normally wouldn’t makes me feel as if I’m not alone.

It makes me want to do the same.

"Hey, Puckerman. Santana doesn’t know whom all I called, just that I was inviting three of you to come see her. Before I let you in, I’m going to warn you that she looks exhausted and unlike herself. She stays tired. There is a sling on her arm and a bandage right below her shoulder; don’t stare or it’ll cause her to shut down. It took me this long just to convince her to allow any of you over here. Don’t fuck it up." I try my best to prepare him without giving too much away.

It wouldn’t be fair not to say anything, though; he deserves some warning before going in there. I know that I would want to be aware of what I could be walking into.

Anger and pain flash through his eyes, and then furrow in anxiety; he is anxious to get in there and tired of being kept waiting. I motion for him to step in, and then waste no time in burying my face into his chest. He seems startled at first, but slowly returns the hug.

"It’s bad, isn’t it?" Already knowing the answer, it comes out as more of a statement, and he holds me tighter against him.

"She’s still here with me-uh, us, and that is all that matters." I blush at my slip up, but decide not to fret over it; he won’t think anything of it right now.

"Thanks for choosing me, Q. I care for all my girls, you know, and it hurt when Schue told us that she was in an accident. I’m glad she had you, though; it’s good that she wasn’t alone. Who else is coming?" His voice is a whisper in my ear as he continues to hug me snuggly.

I can tell he is silently crying; that alone shows how much he cares. My heart warms, knowing that I was right, that Santana really has friends who _care._

 "Group hug!" Before we can react, a leggy blonde whirlwinds into us.

We wobble, teetering until we somehow manage to keep from toppling over. Brittany laughs and squeezes the air out of both of us, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It feels good to hug it out with some of the people I care for most.

"Knock, knock?" I swirl around out of their grasp at the new voice, finding Mike and Tina standing awkwardly inside the doorway.

"Hey, guys, come in." Smiling, I wave them in, and finally shut the door after they give each other a look and walk into the house.

"What’s going on?" Tina asks curiously, eyeing the three of us.

"Thanks for coming without question. The reason I invited you over is because of Santana." I tell them, and gauge their reaction at the mention of her.

Tina’s eyes widen worriedly. "O-oh, is she all right? I mean, um, she isn’t-"

"No, Tina, God no. She’s doing okay. Santana and her parents are staying with us. I texted, because she needs her friends; she needs for them to show her that she is not alone. That every one of you are worried sick and care for her regardless of the way she is at school." I interrupt her with eyes wide as hers had been, knowing where she was going with that question.

I don’t want to think about Santana… dying.

"Of course we’ve been worried sick. We had no idea what happened. We still don’t." Mike replies, nodding in understanding, but still confused over our friend’s situation.

"I’m sorry; she wasn’t ready to be around anyone. Not even me at times. Santana is… fragile. Just let her know that you’re here for her, but don’t pressure her into talking. You know how she is, one wrong word and she shuts down." I say softly, not wanting Santana to overhear me talking about her, because if she did, well, I’d be eating my own words.

_One slip up, Q that is all it would take._

* * *

 

Present, Santana.

I sit at the table, fidgeting. I’ve already made a messy pile of shredded napkin on the table with shaky fingers. Now I’m making work of the label on my water bottle; it isn’t easy with one hand, but I can’t seem to sit still. While distracting myself with my hands, I hear voices and try to listen in, though I’m not really able to make out anything distinctive.

Britt is here; it’s hard to miss her. She loves hugs, and when she gives them, she isn’t exactly subtle about it. I wish she or Q would come in here to calm me. I need some kind of contact from my girls; it is the only way to moderately alleviate my nerves and thoughts.

Footsteps keep my alert gaze on the doorway until Brittany pops her head in, closely followed by Puck, Mike, Tina, and then Quinn. My eyes skip over them to search out hers; they connect and I silently communicate my need, hoping she will be able to read it clearly.

She looks away first, watching the group instead.

My heart plummets and I can’t help but feel disappointed. Lowering my head, I take in my handy work while everyone stands around me.

"Hey, Santi. You look so much better than the last time I saw you!" Brittany greets me in an oh-so-Brittany way, her lips finding my cheek and giving it a smack that I’ll feel for days.

My heart lifts slightly, settling in my stomach and floating there, waiting for a ride back up; back _home_. I smile at her as she sits beside me and links out pinkies together.

"Hey, B. Thanks, I feel a little better, especially since you’re here now." I tell her, making sure to keep that happy glow around her; can’t have Brittany sad in my presence.

There’s no way I would risk saying or doing anything on purpose to drop her mood. Except, now that I think about it, I might have to tell the others what happened to me and that’ll do what I didn’t want. _Damn, Brittany is going to be sad tonight anyway._

She beams at me and squeezes our linked pinkies happily.

When a familiar scent invades my nose, I turn my head to the right, coming face to face with Quinn. Sometime during mine and Britt’s moment, she had sat on the other side of me and is now leaning in, lips dangerously close to me ear.

"I see you. Just remember that I’ve got you, too." She whispers, the soft spoken words honest and reassuring in their meaning, and meant only for me to hear.

_Mine._

My own personal elevator dings, the doors open, and my heart thumps inside.

The elevator operator, resembling myself, stares at the beating organ, and then at the suave bodyguard - who looks a hell of a lot like Quinn - standing at ease beside her.

She gives a nod, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a barely there smile.

The operator acknowledges the affirmation and presses the red button reading home.

Quinn’s lips graze my ear as she pulls back.

The elevator jump-starts, easing into its short journey up my stomach.

Quinn’s hand finds my thigh under the table.

The elevator bounces to a stop inside my chest, dinging and opening for departure.

Quinn’s warm fingers knead my thigh gently, and with a last "I’ve got you." from my hazel eyed bodyguard, my heart races out of the safe zone and plants itself where it belongs.

The elevator drops back down to the lobby for another day.

I grin, knowing my champion really cares and sees right through me, even in a crowded room

I feel _safe._

"Um, Santana, are you feeling okay?" My eyes flutter open and I blink stupidly at Mike while coming out of my deep, drug induced thoughts.

"Mmhm, feelin’ fine, dude." I mumble, nodding a few times.

Quinn’s hand slides from my leg, and it instantly goes cold at the loss of her warmth, making me have to force back a humiliating whimper.

I watch, eyes slightly droopy as he exchanges looks with Tina, Puck, and then Quinn; they don’t believe me one bit, and I can’t say that I blame them.

"S, what happened to you?" Puck is the first to give in and say something, his eyes regarding me with unease and unveiled concern as they dart from my face to the sling and then back.

"All right, who’s hungry? I think we may have fixed enough to feed a small army." Quinn’s mom enters the dining room before I can think of how much to tell them.

She looks between all of us, hostess smile in place.

"Well, Mrs. F, you fixed it for the right army. Lead the way, beautiful." The ever so charming Puck loops his arm through hers, takes one last glance at me, and then is lead to the kitchen with the rest of the group following.

My heart begins to race, knowing that I have to talk at some point.

"Come on, you too, Santana." Quinn says from her spot beside me.

With a playful ruffling of my hair, she stands up. I sigh, scrape the chair backwards, and get up to walk with my very attentive friend. Once there, we move to the short line around the counter, and Quinn grabs a plate while nudging me in front of her.

"Tell me what you want." _Oh, damn that is one loaded question, Fabray._

_One mostly loaded with you._

After going through and picking out enough food to placate her, we head back to the table and she sets the plate down in front of me. Minutes later, we’re all sat and ready to eat, though Judy announces that she would like to pray first so we all respectively close our eyes.

Her prayer starts with the normal thanking of our food, thanks for our guests, my parents, her beautiful girl, and then a cracked, heartfelt thank you for letting her daughter’s best friend stay here on earth with her family and friends, and for having the will to survive all of the shit the good Lord put her through.

Quinn gasps, shocked at the curse word her mother said so casually while speaking to God, and everyone else’s eyes snap open to look at Judy and then me. Tears are running down my cheeks, and I have to glance away from their heavy gazes.

It’s silent after that, too silent.

Scowling, I stab at the food on my plate, and stuff my face to keep from having to answer any of the questions wanting spill from their curious minds.

They say nothing, though, probably too scared.

I would be terrified of pissing me off or making me cry, too.

The rest of dinner is tense and awkward with small talk, and the only thing keeping me from snapping or breaking down is the familiar sensation of Quinn’s hand on my thigh.

When none of us can eat anymore, Mami sends us away from the table to relocate to the living room while they clean up and prepare for dessert. Mike and Tina take the loveseat, Puck the la-Z-boy, and Quinn, Britt, and I take the couch. Or, I try to, but instead, I take over Quinn by accident, falling into her lap as we aim for the same spot.

She grunts at the unexpected impact and grips my sides to steady me.

I feel myself flush with embarrassment.

"You know, if you wanted to sit on me, all you had to do was ask." She teases, chuckling lightly as I try not to squirm against her.

A naughty picture of me sitting - on her face - flashes through my head.

"Funny, Q. I’ll pass, thank you." Scoffing with an eye roll, I reluctantly move to sit on her other side, all for the benefit of our present company.

No need for them to know how much she just affected me.

The room goes silent, much like the awkward mess in the dining room, and it’s already bugging the shit out of me. I don’t mind silence, but this awkward, tense crap is what gets me, especially when someone is expecting you to talk. I don’t know if I can do this. It’s bad enough that I have to be reminded of what happened by the ugly scars left behind and those damn nightmares; talking about it, though, opens up more horrors.

What would they think? How will they react to me being minutes away from knocking on death’s door? Will they be angry, sad, horrified as I am, or socked into silence?

Probably all of the above.

"Santana, please, I’m sorry, but I can’t sit and act like nothing is going on with you. What the hell happened? Talk to us." Puck’s impatient voice fills the quiet.

I swallow the lump in my throat and glance at him.

He is closer than before, now sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch and staring at me with nothing but genuine worry.

"Puck-"

"I-I can’t."

My stuttered response overlaps Quinn’s warning tone, and I look away from all of them, eyes casting aside to the old timey TV sitting on an old ass, chipped wood stand that has faded from a shiny white to show the natural brown color underneath.

They needs to update their shit.

A soft touch to my bare shoulder has my eyes shifting back to the left, where Brittany is reaching across and brushing her long fingers over my skin."I know you’re scared, S; you are afraid of how they will look at you, afraid of what they will say, but trust me when I tell you that you honestly shouldn’t be. Look at us."

Listening to her, I look at each of their faces, and see a group of very worried gleeks. I gulp, hard, still nervous as hell about opening up to them. Tina moves next, standing from her embrace with Mike and walking slowly over to sit beside Puck on the table.

"S-Santana, I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say that there is nothing to be scared of. We are the ones who were, are, scared. All we knew was that you were in an accident and then sent to the hospital, hurt but still alive. None of us could even sing in Glee club, except Rachel of course. Nothing short of her mouth being sewn shut could stop that girl from belting out her feelings, yet even then she told us to be strong for you.

She showed us a new side, a side that let go of the animosity between you, and one that showed us all that she truly cares for someone not herself. And that is exactly what _we’re_ doing. It- it doesn’t matter how much you pick on us or how much you may or may not hate us. W-We are family and we are all scared shitless knowing one of our own is seriously hurt."

My jaw is practically on the floor and my eyes saucers by the time she’s done talking. I did not expect anything like that to come out of Tina’s mouth. She leans forward, hand tentatively touching my knee, and squeezes while holding eye contact with me.

"You don’t have to tell us _anything_ , but know that we are here for you if you do. That includes the rest of Glee, too. We shouldn’t be the only ones to know; it’s okay to tell them what happened to you. They all care." Her hand squeezes again, and then retreats.

"It wasn’t an accident." The words leave my mouth faster than I can stop them; it’s done, I’ve opened up without consciously meaning to and now there is no turning back.

Startled, the three of them look at me, though whether from me actually saying something or from the words spoken I don’t really know.

"What the hell does that mean?" Puck questions, eyes going hard.

Their startles looks were from the words spoken, then.

"It was late; I was home alone and in bed sleeping when I heard someone breaking into the house downstairs. I grabbed my little brother’s baseball bat and waited. He opened my door and I struck him in the head. It wasn’t enough." Although I start off strong, my voice wavers and I end up having to stop.

"No..." Tina breathes out in horror, her head shaking in denial.

Quinn’s fingers brush through my hair, and she leans in."I’m right here, okay? I’ve got you." Her soothing encouragement and touch give me strength to continue.

"He overpowered me. I was thrown on the bed and before I could even blink, he was on top. He told me why he was there and then the motherfucker shot me. God, I thought I was going to die right there, with his devil eyes being the last thing I saw. He ran, leaving me to bleed to death, but I used all the strength that I had left and forced myself out of bed, down the stairs, and out of the house. I walked to Quinn’s, passed the fuck out, and then woke up in the hospital." I finish with the abridged version, barely getting the rest out through tears of anger, fear, and memories of the worst night of my life.

"No. No fucking way, Santana. Please tell us you’re joking, that some bastard didn’t really try to kill you! W-When Schuester said that you were in an accident; I thought you were in a wreck, but this? _No._ " Jolting at Puck’s angry, disbelieving, and booming voice as he yells in denial, I feel myself start to shake; my nerves are shredded.

He doesn’t want to believe anything I’ve just told them.

I don’t either.

I wish everything was just some fucked up nightmare.

Can I wake up now?

Arms go around me and I am tucked into Quinn’s side. "I know this is hard to believe, Puck, but stop yelling. You’re making it worse." She scolds him, tightening her hold on me in what I can only describe as protective.

My heart warms, my nerves still, and my eyes close.

"Oh shit, Santana, I’m sorry. I just, I’m having a hell of a hard time taking this shit in. Who did it so Mike and I can go kill him?" He calms, toning down the volume of his voice with a twitchy hand running over his mohawk, though the power of his anger doesn’t falter.

"Santana, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say after that. I’m sickened by the thought of someone h-hurting you. I can’t imagine what you had to go through. I-I know we aren’t close, but I would turn back time if I could so none of that would have ever happened to you." Tina breaks in before I could tell Puck there’s no way I would let him know who did this.

She kneels in front of us, hands on both my knees and tears pouring down her saddened, now slightly pale face. My heart lifts more from her selfless words; I don’t know why I was so scared to tell them, because it’s obvious they care for me for reals.

And it feels really damn good.

"Thanks, Tina; that means a lot." My reply isn’t eloquent, but it’s honest and it is all she needs to know that I accept her sincere words.

Mike is quiet as he comes over, not having said anything the whole time; however, the mirrored tears running down his own face tell me everything I need to know.

He cares, too.

Tina moves out of the way for him, and he doesn’t stop walking until I am up and carefully enclosed in his arms. I bury my head in his chest, wrap my good arm around his waist, and let him hold me as I cry for the hundredth time since that terror filled night.

"Who did this, Santana?" Puck speaks up again, hovering near us.

"Someone my father knew. That’s all I can tell you. I won’t have you going after anyone for me just to end up in jail for the rest of your life. We don’t know where he is anyway." I answer him against Mike’s chest, but not the one he wanted to hear.

He growls low. I can’t see him, but I’m sure his face is contorted in rage. I push closer to Mike, hurt arm be damned; I need this closeness. A hard chest presses into my back, putting me into a cocoon of heat and comfort. With the scent of old spice surrounding us, Puck rests his head on mine and begins to shake as he silently cries.

"I’mma kill him, S. I swear if I get my hands on the fucker who did this, I am going to choke him until his eyes glaze over and the last breath leaves his mouth." The truth twisted in his words has me shuddering; I believe him and that’s why, if I can help it, he’ll never know.

"You’d have to get in line." Quinn mutters from the couch, making me want to look at her, but the two chiseled bodies I’m nestled between prevents the craved eye contact.

Nothing else is said and we don’t pull away from each other until a throat clears. Puck eases away so I can untangle from Mike, and three of us look to the doorway, where Papi is observing us all with crossed arms and an inscrutable expression.

"Why don’t you kids come back in here for dessert?" It may sound like a suggestion to the rest of them, but I know first hand that tone, and it was more of a command.

He must have been standing there listening in for a while and wants us to take a break from the depressing, sad, and raging tension mounting in the room. I happen to agree with him on this one; I could use a break for sure and dessert sounds like heaven right now.

xXx

An hour later, after eating our fill of apple pie, peanut butter cookies, and homemade ice cream in even more awkwardness, Puck, Mike, and Tina bid me a goodnight. They leave with promises not to tell the others about me, and to call or text me later for updates on how I’m doing. Brittany pleads to stay longer, not ready to leave me yet, and I give in instantly.

She, Q, and I are sprawled on Quinn’s bed, while Lilo and Stitch the movie plays in the background. I’m drained, exhausted, and not paying any attention to it. Instead, my focus drifts back and forth between Quinn and Brittany, the former lying on her side facing the TV and the latter lying on her stomach with her head propped up on Q’s hip.

I want so badly to lie down freely so that I can use Quinn as my bed and pillow. I want to be lying on her like Brittany is, except I want to cover her whole body with mine.

_Damn, no fair, I feel left out now._

Would it be wrong if I asked to switch around?

Wait, since when do I ask for the shit I want?

I _take._

Like Sam, I took him right from under Quinn like the good best friend that I am. I didn’t ask her what she thought of me going after him, but that was the point, I had wanted to snatch something she cared for - it didn’t matter what - and Sam just happened to be in the crossfire. All the better to rub it in her face that I could give him superior attention.

Now? Now I want to take it back. I wish I never would have hurt her, and I wish I never would have put Sam in the middle of my selfishness.

I’ll make things right.

The next time I see Sam, I will break up with him. I never liked him romantically, so there’s no sense in dragging him along anymore. He’s a good boy, though, and I can’t imagine it taking long for someone with real feelings to swoop in and take my place.

As for Quinn? Well, I’ve got some major groveling to do still.

It may be forever before things are okay with us, and even longer before they are better than that, better than anything we have ever had with anyone.

"Q, lift up a sec." Shuffling closer to her, I slide my hand under her head and pull.

"S, what are you doing?" She asks while lifting as instructed, her brow rising in that oh-so-sexy way of hers.

Knee walking behind her, I fluff up her pillows, and then settle with my legs stretched out and a pillow in my lap. She blinks, obviously surprised, and smiles. I can’t meet her eyes, so I gaze at the TV, waiting for her to lay her head down. When she fails to catch my eyes, she gives up and maneuvers to where her head is resting on my lap and her feet in Britt’s face.

I brave peering at Quinn; she has refocused on the movie and is wearing a content smile. I slide my fingers into her hair and rake them through soft locks, feeling just as pleased.

A sigh escapes her lips and her eyes flutter closed.

My heart mimics butterfly like movement, and then it stutters and starts to run a marathon when she moves her head to somehow burrow deeper into my lap. My fingers contract in her hair, nails scrapping against a tender scalp, and she hums in response.

I might not have meant to do it, but she seemed to have enjoyed it, so I do it again, and then again, scratching along her head as if it were her back.

"I miss you, too." I breathe the words, not able to hold them in any longer.

At first, I’m not so sure she heard me, but when her chest halts for several seconds, I know that she did. She sucks in a deep breath, and then a hand is snaking under the pillow to clutch my thigh as her breathing returns to normal.

Words are not needed now.

I feel so close to her, yet not nearly close enough.

Ugh, my life.

When and where it concerns Quinn Fabray?

I am seriously _fucked._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope this makes up for it somewhat.. excuse any mistakes and enjoy. :) If you have any questions or anything, don't hesitate to ask.


	11. Chapter 11

I wake with a gasp, something pressing between my legs causing my hips to buck involuntarily and my eyes to snap open. The heavy object bounces in my lap with a grunt and then it’s burrowing even closer.

Arms wrap around my hips, rest there, and a body stretches out against my legs. The room is dark, which means that whatever time it is, it’s way too early for me to be awake, but though I despise being woken before I’m ready, I can forgive Quinn, because this has to be one of the best wake up calls ever.

We all fell asleep during the movie last night. The menu is up, replaying scenes, yet there’s no sound.

Someone must have muted the TV.

Looking back down, I notice that the pillow once laying over my legs has now disappeared. Q’s head is directly where it has never been before, with only layers of clothes separating her nose and mouth from being pressed into me in the most intimate way possible.

A glare at the alarm clock tells me it is 4:50am; definitely too damn early. Now all I have to do is attempt to fall back asleep without giving into temptation and humping Quinn’s face.

Easier said than done; the pressure resting against me is very distracting, so much so that my hand twitches with the need to touch her in some way.

  _Fuck._

The hot breath blowing through the thin material of my pj’s and underwear has me clenching and whimpering at the feeling. I latch onto her hair and fight the urge to tug her closer; instead, I sift my fingers through her blonde tresses and close my eyes.

Is it possible to orgasm from someone breathing on you?

Because right now, it seems kind of likely that if I let her stay this way, I’ll end up coming without any physical stimulation, and as much as I don’t want her to move, this is not how I wanted our first experience together to be. If I ever get the privilege of coming undone beneath Quinn Fabray, I want to be able to look her in the eyes so that she will know exactly how she is making Santana Lopez feel. Which I know would be no less than _everything._

I don’t give a damn what that makes me sound like.

When you have wanted someone for this fuckin’ long, your mind starts to come up with every possible scenario including you and them together in every way imaginable.

Me underneath Quinn is only one those ways.

I’ve never pictured myself as a bottom; I always feel the need to be in control in and out of the bedroom, but thinking of me with her is for some reason different. I think it’s because I don’t want to be with her just one night, but for every single night after that.

Surrendering myself belongs to the person I’m in love with, and that person now happens to be Quinn, so until she miraculously wants me, I won’t be playing bottom for anyone.

Actually, the thought of anybody touching me sexually right now is revolting.

Knowing my luck, I would have a panic attack if someone other than Quinn tried to have sex with me, because it’s her that I want and it’s her that I trust with my body.

This Lopez is going to be celibate for a really long ass time.

_Damn, what the hell am I going to do? I’mma have to learn how to masturbate with my right hand, because there is no way I will last if I don’t get some sort of relief…_

Living in the same house as her doesn’t help.

Looks like a lot of bathroom time is in my future.

"S? Are you okay? You’re breathing heavy." Quinn’s voice cuts through my thoughts as her lips move against me.

I try not to react, really, but my fingers fist her hair and my hips cant into her, not being able to withstand the contractions seizing my sensitive clit.

"Gah, fuck, Q! You need to _move_." Gritting out between clenched jaws, my body tensely stills.

"Ow! Let go!" She hollers, trying to move with my fingers still tightly wound in her hair.

I sheepishly release my grip, feeling bad that I hurt her. "S-Sorry."

"What the hell just happened, Santana?" She pushes off me with some difficulty and then her weight is no longer on the bed.

How am I supposed to answer that?

"I-I had a cramp in my shoulder." Stuttering an excuse, my face heats up.

"How come that doesn’t sound very convincing?" She grumbles, and I can vaguely see her rubbing her sore head.

"Maybe because I’m in pain? Can you just get me some damn medicine, please?" I huff at her, trying to gain some attitude back so she’ll either believe me or drop it.

She sighs, giving in for now. "Of course, I’ll be right back."

Though, I doubt that she is actually convinced.

The lamp blinds me as she cuts it on; my eyes squint in response and I scowl in her direction, but all I manage to see is her perfect ass sashaying out of the room.

"Stare any harder, S and your eyes are going to get stuck like that." Brittany teases me as she moves up the bed and lays her head on my legs.

The remote appears in the spot she moved from, leading me to believe that some part of her long body hit the mute button in the middle of the night.

"I wasn’t staring; my eyes were adjusting to the light." I deny the accusation lamely, a pout forming at being caught red handed by my other best friend.

"Don’t lie; I know you were because we used to stare at each other the same way." She retorts quietly, eyeing me with a knowing expression.

I swallow nervously and nod, there’s really no point in trying to hide anything from the most observant girl that I know. "I still love you, B, and I always will-"

"But you love Quinn differently. I know, and it’s okay; Quinn is very lovable. You are still my best friend and I will love you always, but I can’t blame you for wanting to move on and be happy. I don’t think we were meant to be anything more than friends anyway, or else we would have worked out a long time ago. I-I think I like someone else, too." Interrupting me, she uses that perceptive personality to tell me how it is.

Which, does and doesn’t surprise me that she knew more than she let on; Brittany has always known me just as much as I know myself, if not more.

"She _is_ very lovable, but I doubt she would ever love me back, Britt. No matter what happens, though, you will always be my best friend, too. You and Quinn, more than anyone, deserve to be happy, and if you can find that with wheels, then I wish you nothing but the best." I don’t know why we’re talking this seriously now out of all the moments we could have had later in the day instead of at this ungodly hour, but what Brittany wants, Brittany gets.

Even if it does hurt opening up not so old wounds.

"Thank you, S, but it’s not him. Artie hasn’t made me feel like-"

"Here, I made you some jelly toast. I hope it’s okay." Quinn re-enters the room before Brittany can finish revealing her new crush.

"I was expecting a steak, bitch." I quip, mock glaring at her, though honestly touched that she is so willing to take care of me even when I am difficult.

"Now, now, be nice to the cook or I may just spit in your food. Or, _drug_ you." Teasing, she tosses me a wink, one that has hordes of butterflies fluttering in my belly.

"I’ll take the toast, hold the spit, and maybe you could uh, slip a little extra drugs in there for a wounded friend?" Winking back as she hands me the tray, our fingers brush.

Shaking her head with a chuckle, she moves to her side of the bed, and then slips under the covers. "Greedy bitch. I think one is enough for you, druggie."

I narrow my eyes and pout, but she just laughs and tucks fallen locks behind my ear.

"Eat up so you can go back to sleep."

"You two are the ones who need to go back to sleep, I’m not the one who has school in a few hours." I grab a piece of toast, taking a huge bite off it.

"Ugh, why’d you have to remind me? I would rather stay here with you." Frowning sadly, Quinn looks at me, and I end up with those damn fluttery butterflies again.

"Me, too, except I kind of want to go because I’ll get to see-"

A knock on the door shuts her up, and I roll my eyes, frustrated that I _still_ don’t get to hear who this mystery person is that Brittany wants to see tomorrow.

The door cracks open and the hallway light shines through as Mami pops her head in.

"Hola, chicas. Is everything all right?"

"Si, Mami. My shoulder started to hurt, so I asked Q to get me a pill." I reassure her, knowing how worried she is over me.

"Okay, Mi Amor. Try to get some sleep, girls, you have school. Goodnight, mis ángeles." She murmurs a reply, swaying in spot slightly from how tired she still is.

Mom always reverts to speaking random Spanish when she’s half asleep, angry, or sad.

I am proud to say that I take after her.

"Gracias, Mami. Te amo!" With a small smile, I yell after her as she shuts the door.

"I love your mom." Brittany’s smile is big enough for all three of us.

"Me, too, she’s like a second mother to me." Quinn agrees shyly, eyes on her fingers while picking at the hem of, not her shirt, but mine.

Could I ask for better friends?

No, because there aren’t any.

When I’m done eating and taking the pain killer, I set the tray aside and settle back into the pillows.

Then I let out an aggravated huff.

"Is something wrong?" Brittany asks in concern, lifting her head off my legs.

"No, I just have to pee and don’t feel like getting up." I complain, pouting.

"Aw, you poor baby, do you want me to carry you?" Quinn teases me, again, while poking at my cheek until I swat her hand away.

"Har, har, Q. I think I can manage, but thanks for the offer." With a playful glare pointed her way I motion for Brittany to hop up.

I walk slowly to the bathroom, watching where I’m going so that I don’t fall and risk hurting myself.

I’ve been known to do that when I haven’t moved in a while.

I hate having to use only one hand, and my dominant one at that, but I work my clothes down and sit on the toilet with a sigh of relief. When I wipe, I’m practically resembling a waterfall; that is how turned on Quinn has made me.

And damn it if there’s nothing that I can do about it either.

So not cool.

Once I’m done, and after struggling with pulling everything back up in the right place, I wash my hands and look in the mirror. I’m not as pale as I was even yesterday. Everyday that goes by seems to heal me more, yet I just wish that I could heal faster.

Apparently, I have to do physical therapy when the wound is healed enough to handle exercise, so it’s going to be a really long damn time before I can do anything normal.

This is the shittiest deal ever.

What feels like forever later, I am back in the room, and Brittany is already asleep where she moved to when I left. Quinn is smiling at me from her new spot on the other side of the bed, the side where my good arm rests.

Is she expecting us to cuddle again?

Because I would welcome her with open arm, so long as she stays north, cause the bitch my get caught in the waterfall south of the border, and I don’t think I could be held accountable of my actions once she’s down there.

Like, not throwing her a life raft.

I shuffle carefully under the warm comforter, in a spot further away from Quinn. I don’t want to sleep like this, of course, I just want to see her reaction and if said reaction will result in her moving closer. Brittany is in the middle, toward the end of the bed, leaving enough foot room for both Quinn and me to sleep side by side if she takes the bait.

I watch out the corner of my eye as Quinn's lips curve downward.

_Is that a pout I see?_

_Adorable._

I stomp on the urge to give in and curl into her; for some reason I need her to make the move. I hear her release an audible sigh, and then the lamp is cut off, surrounding us in darkness. My heart rate picks up as my eyes readjust; I hate the dark, but when Quinn shifts and her body wiggles fully underneath the blanket, she is definitely closer to me and I instantly feel safer.

I sense her hesitancy.

She is unsure if I need space, so instead of caving completely, I meet her halfway and reach my hand out to her, fingers tickling over her wrist.

Relaxing with another sigh, this one relieved, she melds against my side.

I may be afraid of the dark when alone, but with Quinn Fabray appointed as my champion I feel as though I could take on anything, including the dead of night.

Her body is all heat and solid softness, and it feels so damn good that I let out a content moan.

My eyes blink closed when Quinn’s hand glides across my stomach and stays there.

Okay, well, as content as I can be while I’m still insanely horny for her.

Objectives for tomorrow, or for within the week; get B to reveal her crush, break up with Sam so that I can fantasize about Quinn guilt free, and learn how to properly use my right hand with lots of… hands on training.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small, filler chapter, though Quinn and Santana seem to be growing closer.. One more chapter to edit and post from what I had, then it's on to writing new ones. :)


End file.
